


Hermione Granger and the Pit

by s_the_queen



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dumbledore Bashing, Fred Weasley Lives, Good Slytherins, Nymphadora Tonks Lives, Polyamory, Remus Lupin Lives, Sirius Black Lives, Slytherins Being Slytherins, Ted Tonks Lives
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-16
Updated: 2018-04-16
Packaged: 2018-12-30 12:07:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 26
Words: 76,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12108378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/s_the_queen/pseuds/s_the_queen
Summary: After a tumultuous Fifth Year for the Golden Trio, Dumbledore agrees to give them access to Order information. With that, Hermione is given an assignment—to be the handler for a secret faction of the Order that is comprised completely of Slytherins.This is the story of how—instead of blindly rejecting all Slytherins as a lost cause—Dumbledore went out of his way to bring them in from the dark, and how the brightest witch of her age took them to new heights.Full disclosure, I still don't know who's ending up with who. Sorry in advance.





	1. Secrets Revealed, Secrets Kept

A thrum of terror and excitement ran through Hermione’s spine as the door shut behind the last few Order members who trickled in. The only person on the other side of the door was Ginny (who had been thoroughly hacked off), and now she, Harry and Ron were all at the table. Harry was positively effervescent with anticipation, and it was rubbing off on Hermione. This was the most responsive and _alive_ Harry had been since Sirius fell through the veil just three months prior. That had been the catalyst—Dumbledore had finally realized that keeping them out of Order business did more harm than good, and had agreed to let them sit in on meetings and take on minor and informational assignments.

 

“Welcome, all.” Dumbledore greeted them quietly. “We’ll start by welcoming our newest members. Then, each of you will explain your assignments, and give a status report so that they can catch up to our intelligence thus far. Any objections?” Molly huffed loudly, but stayed silent. It had been a point of contention for going on two months. “Excellent. Harry, Ronald, Hermione, welcome to the Order. I can’t say that I’m happy you’re here, but recent events have certainly necessitated your involvement.” He sighed. “In the interest of getting you filled in, We’ll start with Kingsley.”

 

Shacklebolt cleared his throat before addressing the teenagers. “At the present, we have been putting the bulk of our efforts within the ministry towards protecting Minister Scrimgeour. With the Dark Lord back for the world to see, we need to be ready for escalation, and I have no doubt that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has a candidate of his own in mind.”

 

Tonks continued for him. “Dawlish and I tail him most days, if he’s not with Kingsley himself.”

 

Fred and George were next. “We’ve opened a joke shop in Diagon Alley. Thanks for the seed fund, Harry.” George threw him a wink. Hermione raised an eyebrow at Harry, who grinned sheepishly, and shrugged. “We’ve been using the profits—”

 

“The sizeable profits.” Fred injected.

 

“Sizeable indeed—we’ve been using them to fund research into defensive and offensive products. Some diversions. So far we’ve come up with Decoy Detonators and Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder.”

 

This time, Hermione raised both eyebrows. “What?”

 

“Decoy Detonators are little devices you can use to make a distraction. If you need a diversion, you drop them, then they run in the opposite direction and explode. Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder is more of a concealment or ambush tool. Take a palmful and throw it in the air, and the space you’re in will go pitch black.” Fred explained quickly.

 

“Sometimes I forget how brilliant you two are. Perhaps because most of what you do is so asinine.” Hermione jibed. The twins plastered on identical looks of hurt.

 

“So cruel.”

 

“So cold.”

 

Bill and Fleur explained quickly that they were setting up safe houses around Europe, and Remus recounted his attempts to recruit the werewolf population.

 

Harry and Ron stayed nearly silent the whole way through, trusting Hermione to make the most pertinent observations and probing questions.

 

“I have been trying to find out what the Dark Lord has planned for the students who still reside at Hogwarts.” Snape said quietly. Hermione’s brow furrowed. “Please hold your questions until the end, Miss Granger.” She nodded. “He’s furious with the Malfoys. Lucius failed to retrieve the prophecy and ended up in Azkaban for his trouble. We know that his greatest desire is to perpetuate his beliefs in the minds of Hogwarts’ students, but we aren’t sure how he plans to infiltrate the castle walls. I will be spending increasingly less time at Headquarters in order to make myself at his disposal and cement his trust in me.” He informed them silkily. “Narcissa Malfoy has looked frantic and sick all summer. Knowing her, she’s concerned for her son. And if one Slytherin student has been asked to do something, there’s a strong likelihood that they all have. Nott, Parkinson, Zabini, Crabbe, Goyle, and Bulstrode may all have missions that they’ve been set to complete.”

 

“Like what?”

 

“I would be surprised if the Dark Lord trusted such young wizards with much more than recruitment and blackmail. But then, he does dole out rather terrible surprises.”

 

Hermione hummed her agreement.

 

“Thank you all. This meeting is adjourned. Miss Granger, if you don’t mind staying behind, I’d like a word.” Dumbledore sounded tired to his core. The rest of the Order filed out into the sitting room of Grimmauld Place, where Molly had set up a dining table.

 

“How can I help you, Professor?” Hermione asked gently.

 

“I have an assignment for you. I have been handling this personally, but given recent developments, I fear I must pass on some of my outlying interests. I trust and believe in your abilities and discretion far more than most, Miss Granger.” He smiled softly.

 

“Does this have something to do with your hand, sir?” He raised an amused eyebrow. “Harry mentioned that there was a story behind it that you wouldn’t tell. When you went to see Mr. Slughorn.” She explained.

 

“I suppose it has something to do with my hand. I find myself older than I remembered. And far more tired.” He told her. “Of course, I trust everyone in the Order. But few are as open minded and logical as you. You are passionate and loyal, but you are also unfailingly kind. You reach out to people in need, and the people you are going to deal with are certainly in need.”

 

Hermione eyed him warily. “Alright…”

 

“Would you be willing to travel with me? I find that showing is sometimes better than telling.”

 

“Of course, sir.”

 

With some effort, he rose to his feet. She took his arm when he held it out for her, and then disapparated them away.

* * *

When they reappeared they were in front of a modest home, surrounded by forest. It seemed familiar to her somehow, but she didn’t dwell on it. Dumbledore drew her closer to the door, and whispered: “Watch closely.” Before drawing his wand and tracing a pattern into the door with his wand. The rune and the slender wand glowed delicately, then faded as the door swung open. “Miss Morelle?” He called into the house once they’d stepped inside.

 

The interior of the home was much larger than the exterior (as was the tradition in wizarding homes, it seemed). He led her into a classy yet comfortable living room, fit to seat about thirty people. To her surprise (and gentle delight), a television hung from one wall, and a piano stood against another. The rest of the walls were lined with shelves that were stacked with books. Upon closer inspection, they seemed to be sorted by subject, author and title—exactly how she would have sorted them. “Oh my god.”

 

Professor Dumbledore smiled fondly down at her. “I’m glad you like it, Ms. Granger. I curated this collection myself, and I’m sure you’ll end up spending quite a lot of time here.”

 

“Dumbles? Is that you?” A sharp feminine voice called from somewhere overhead. Hermione heard footsteps on the staircase to her right. She spun to greet the newcomer. “Oh! You brought...a guest…” The woman stated apprehensively.

 

“Miss Granger, I’d like for you to meet Peregrine Morelle. She’s a former student of mine, and quite a precocious one at that. Miss Morelle, this is Hermione Granger.” Hermione observed quietly as Peregrine’s eyes widened in recognition.

 

“You look taller in the papers.” Peregrine informed her after a long moment of silence.

 

“The Prophet isn’t exactly known for painting an accurate picture of me.” Hermione said uncomfortably. “It’s nice to meet you Peregrine.”

 

“Oh please. Call me Grin. Or Morelle, if you prefer the stuffy, formal last-names-only tradition.” Grin smiled tightly.

 

Hermione cracked a smile. “Grin it is.”

 

“Not to be rude, but why is she here?” Grin demanded.

 

“Due to some unfortunate developments on my end, Miss Granger will be taking over as handler for the Pit.” Dumbledore informed her somberly. Grin’s face dropped.

 

“She’s a Gryffindor. D’you honestly expect her to trust any of us?” She asked bitterly. A lightbulb flickered dimly in Hermione’s head.

 

“Miss Granger is singularly fair minded. You couldn’t ask for someone more loyal, trustworthy and intelligent to take my place.” Hermione flushed thoroughly at the headmaster’s compliment. “She’s also a fairly excellent option for your recruitment strategies. Brave to a fault, and completely unafraid of walking into a snake pit.”

 

Grin scrutinized her thoroughly. After a long, incredibly uncomfortable silence, she exhaled noisily. “Welcome to the Pit, Miss Granger.”

 

“You can call me Hermione.”

 

“Hermione, then. Do you know what the Pit is?” Hermione shook her head slowly. Grin glanced back up at Dumbledore. “Do you want me to explain? Or will you be making the sales pitch?”

 

“I’ll leave you to it. After all, you two need to get to know each other.” He smiled, eyes twinkling. “I’ll come back for you in a couple of hours, Miss Granger. I’ll wait for your Patronus.”

 

Once Dumbledore had left, Grin turned her scrutinous stare back on Hermione. “Can I get you anything? Tea? Coffee? Firewhiskey?” She offered, still visually dissecting her.

 

“Coffee, if it’s not too much trouble. I’ve been knackered lately.” Up late researching advanced combative magic and protective charms. Studying the ancient practice of runic tattooing. Crying over spilled milk.

 

“Oh?”

 

“We did something stupid a few months ago. We suffered a loss. I got injured. Nightmares.” She offered shortly.

 

“Ah. The Department of Mysteries.”

 

Hermione blinked, surprised. “Professor Dumbledore told you?” Grin nodded. She pulled out her wand and flicked it casually towards the kitchen.

 

“We had family down there. Some of us on both sides.” She murmured as the coffee pot floated out of the kitchen, full and steaming. “Sirius Black was a terrible loss for the Order. And, due to the rather inbred nature of Pureblood families, a terrible loss to many of our families.” The words were dispassionate and clinical, but something on her face bore an undercurrent of sorrow.

 

“He was...really quite important to me. And to my friends.” Hermione agreed. Grin nodded mutely. “Are you going to tell me what the Pit is?”

 

“Of course.” She conjured a coffee mug, and Hermione guffawed. Emblazoned in silver across the side were the words ‘Espresso Patronum’. “Glad you like it.” Grin grinned. Hermione was sure she’d never seen anything quite as transformatively beautiful as Grin’s smile. The woman before her was all angles—sharp features from head to toe, and slender. Her inky hair was pin straight, and hung to the center of her back in a tight ponytail. Her eyes were thickly rimmed with eyeliner. When she was scrutinizing or frowning, she looked downright menacing. When she smiled, she looked like some sort of angel. A vengeful one, but bright and full of joy nonetheless. You couldn’t help but be put at ease.

 

Hermione accepted the coffee mug from her gratefully. “When the war ends, you should market these. Clever novelty mugs make a mint in the muggle world.”

 

“Not a bad idea.” Grin chuckled. “Now, to business.” She took a quick sip from her own mug. “This house is named the Pit, and it houses a secret faction of the Order. We are Slytherins, from high-ranking Death Eater families, who have forsaken ties to Lord Voldemort for a myriad of reasons. For the most part, we work as an invisible assassination and clean up force.” Hermione’s jaw dropped. “Yeah. Not the most pleasant work, but most of us were trained to kill from a fairly young age. We figured it would be better to use that knowledge to prevent genocide than to promote it.”

 

“That seems reasonable to me…” Hermione said slowly, wrapping her head around the notion presented to her. “Um...who else is in this faction?”

 

“You’ll meet them all soon.” Grin promised. “First, I’d like to formally introduce myself. I’m Peregrine Morelle.” Hermione’s eyebrow twitched. She didn’t know of any purebloods by that name, but she supposed that relative strangers were entitled to their secrets. Particularly if Dumbledore trusted them. “I’m the founder and leader of the Pit. That’s a co-leader position. From here on out, you’re my other half.” She winked. Hermione blushed. “There are twelve members. We get information from Dumbledore—now you—on who to recruit, and we reach out by owl. Except for Flint. We kidnapped Flint. Bloody hard to get ahold of that bugger. We let them know that they have options. They can be in research, espionage, strike or cleanup. We currently have three members in each group. I am partial to research, but swing into strike when needed.”

 

Hermione spluttered. “Hold on. How am I supposed to get close enough to Slytherins to know if they’re viable candidates.”

 

“It won’t be easy. You’re the most notorious muggleborn in Europe.” Grin admitted uncomfortably. “Splattered on the papers, constantly hanging around Harry Potter. Big red target painted on your back for all to see.” As though she could physically see Hermione bristling, Grin held her hands up in surrender. “I’m not criticising. Just stating.” She promised. “It might actually work out in your favor. Nobody will question your loyalty. Besides, I hear you’re notorious for lurking in libraries. Where better to uncover faltering Slytherins than sanctuaries of silence and solitude?”

 

Hermione considered that point. “You’re not wrong. I overhear an absurd amount of gossip in that library.”

 

“The students you’ll be recruiting will be older, and will know better than to gossip in the library. You’ll likely have to wait to get indication from younger students.” Grin warned her. “Kids like Draco Malfoy and Theodore Nott.”

 

Hermione snorted. “Malfoy’s not going to turn coat against the Death Eaters. He would lick the ground Lucius Malfoy walked on if it weren’t for the indignity that would follow.”

 

Grin’s lips pursed and her eyes flashed. “I’m going to need something from you if we’re going to be working together.” She growled. “I need you to not assume that Slytherin is synonymous with evil, and consider that outward appearances in Slytherin are often carefully crafted for our own self-preservation.”

 

Hermione had the good grace to look ashamed when that revelation washed over her. “You’re saying Malfoy... _pretends_ to be a bigot because it’s safer than being a good person?”

 

“Don’t judge him for not living by your values. It’s not how he was raised. He may actually believe that muggleborns are filthy, but if he doesn’t, he’d play everything close to the vest, either to protect himself or someone he loves. Lord Voldemort is hardly above holding the people we love against us as ransom.” She said darkly.

 

“You sound like you have personal experience.” Hermione prodded softly. Grin stared at her coolly. “I trust you. You don’t have to say anything. But if you want to tell me, I’ll listen.”

 

“I can’t tell you much.” Grin sighed after a long moment. “I’m still not sure what curses were placed on me when I was disowned. But I came from a Sacred Twenty-Eight family, and was sorted into Slytherin. For a while, I was my father’s pride and joy. Then, I was partnered with a Ravenclaw girl for a month-long Potions project. She was brilliant and gifted, and so kind. She helped me and tutored me when I struggled. She was also a muggleborn. One of my housemates told my father that I was befriending her, and he shattered half of my arm with a blasting hex when I came home before warning me to stay away from her. I was confused and unsure, so I reached out to another black sheep in the family. It wasn’t easy, either. He told me in no uncertain terms that I should do what I felt made me a better person. That there would be fallout, but the relief for my soul would be miraculous. So I didn’t abandon my friend, and my father disowned me. When my younger brother was old enough to potentially start thinking for himself, I started owling him with Amalia Rosier’s owl. My father caught on after almost a year, and recruited Rabastan and Rodolphus Lestrange to have me killed. I changed my name and appearance to hide from them.” Hermione’s mouth hung ajar by the time Grin finished her tale. “The few friends I still had in Slytherin helped to conceal me. When I went to Dumbledore to start this faction, I dragged them with me. Two of them are acting as spies, and one is acting as a striker.”

 

“What’s a striker?”

 

“Essentially an assassin. But I suppose the muggle terminology would be a Black-Operations soldier.” Grin shrugged.

 

Hermione nodded absently, compiling the information in her overflowing mind as though she were stacking an already-full library shelf. “Who are the other members of the Pit?”

 

“Can’t wait to meet them in person?” Grin asked, amused. Hermione blushed. “Alright then. Meridian Fawley, Lawrence Greengrass, Primrose Parkinson, Amalia Rosier, Theomer Rowle, Joshua Selwyn, Anwar Shafiq, Adonis Pucey, Marcus and Calendula Flint, and Rhianon MacDougal.” She recounted blithely, ticking off her fingers. Hermione’s eyebrows shot up.

 

“Those are mostly Sacred Twenty-Eight.”

 

“I’m technically Sacred Twenty-Eight. What’s your point?”

 

“No...point. Just a...surprised observation. And I’ve never heard of most of them before.”

 

“Well you can’t imagine that our families were particularly fond of the notion that we were turning on them. I imagine our younger siblings have been forbidden to talk about us. Damnatio Memoriae is still a rather fond practice in the upper Pureblood rungs.”

 

“The condemnation of memory?”

 

“To strike the memory of the people we’re ashamed of out of existence. Forget their names, erase their existence. Preserve the faith and the bloodlines.” Grin shrugged. Hermione started when she heard the front door slam. “Looks like someone is home.”

 

“Anyone home?” An unsettlingly familiar voice called from the hallway.

 

“Oh god.” Hermione went pale.

 

“What?”

 

“Um...we don’t exactly have the best history…” Hermione squeaked. She did her best to fade into the couch when Marcus Flint rounded the corner into the living room. He saw Grin first.

 

“Evening boss.” He smiled.

 

“Marcus.” She greeted him steadily. “Are you acquainted with our guest?”

 

“Guest? What…” He turned to look at Hermione. “Guest. Oh. Granger.” He cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Hello.”

 

“Hi.” She squeaked again. “How have you been, Flint?”

 

“Could be better. Could be worse. You?”

 

“About the same.”

 

“I heard about Black. I’m sorry for your loss.” He said sincerely. Had Hermione been watching Grin, she would have noticed the woman shift uncomfortably and avert her eyes. “He was really good to us.”

 

“You knew him?” Hermione asked tightly. Sorrow was gripping at her chest like a vice.

 

“He was going insane cooped up in that house with all of his terrible memories. As a last ditch effort to keep him out of trouble, Dumbledore had him come here every now and then to help us with research and skills practice. He was brilliant.” Marcus confirmed. “He actually helped me become half decent at Transfiguration.”

 

“Thank you.” She whispered, awfully close to tears.

 

Marcus’ face melted into confusion. “What on earth for? I should be thanking you for saving him in the first place.”

 

“For giving him a purpose and an escape. He was so miserable there, especially when Harry wasn’t around. I wrote him sometimes, just to check in. And he was miserable there. He hated hearing his mother’s voice every time Tonks tripped in the hallway. He hated Kreacher. The only person he loved in that house left him behind and died for it. Sometimes, when he thought he was sitting alone, it was like watching a ghost.”

 

Grin studied her thoroughly. “Do you like Ancient Runes, Hermione?” She inquired abruptly.

 

Hermione's eyes snapped to her new acquaintance. “What?”

 

“Ancient Runes. Are you any good at translation? I’m working on translating something, and I think I’d like your help, if you think you’re up for it.” Grin offered vaguely. Marcus’ face twisted into something resembling amusement. Granger had no idea what she’d gotten herself into.


	2. Distrust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione and Ginny make headway. Ron is a prick. Harry is suspicious.

When Hermione was returned to Grimmauld Place, she was left with the distinct feeling that Grin may possibly be smarter than her. It was unsettling.

 

“WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?” Ron demanded when she walked into the sitting room. She started violently.

 

“What do you mean?” She stuttered. He was glowering at her rather fiercely. Harry just looked tired, sprawled on the couch. “What’s going on?”  


“You disappeared for _hours_ Hermione! Where did you go?” He snarled. A flash of ire ripped through her.

 

“If you must know, Dumbledore had an assignment for me. For the record though, you are _not_ my keeper, and you can’t expect me to tell you where I go every time I go somewhere.” She snapped.

 

“Of course I can!” He yelled, throwing his hands up. “What if something happened to you?”

 

“I was with _Dumbledore._ ” Hermione hissed. “You’re not in charge of me, and I certainly won’t be telling you about my assignment. Get off your fucking high-horse and stop treating me like some fragile damsel in distress. Do you honestly think that if I were in danger, that there’s a single duel _you_  could win that I couldn’t?” She scoffed. “Get the hell out of my way, Ronald. I’m tired, and I don’t have the energy for your temper tantrums.”

 

Ron was completely red in the face with fury.

 

“Let her go, Ron. I told you it was none of your business.” Harry said quietly. She shot him an appreciative glance before pushing past Ron to rush to her room. As much as she wanted to fume at Ron’s presumptuous and overprotective nature, she had things to do.

 

Grin had showed her a project she’d been working on that involved complex runes and ancient ritual magic, and Hermione’s research instincts were tingling. She had to admit—most of it was beyond her, but that was hardly going to stop her from digging for answers. All she had said was that it would likely lead to a huge asset for the Order, and that was more than enough for Hermione to throw in her commitment. It was far easier to research and learn than to wrap her head around Grin’s other requests, the most notable being a personal and somewhat emotional plea (from the otherwise stoic and logical woman) to look out for the older Slytherin students. She had no idea how to do it, and she had no idea why it was so important to her, but she would try.

 

Grin had also walked her through her roles and responsibilities. She was to check in on them as often as she could and give status updates to Dumbledore so that he could provide guidance and insight. She was to watch to see which Slytherins seemed dubious of their roles in the Dark Lord’s plans, and pass those names to her contacts at the Pit. She was to find a way to communicate between them that could warn the faction of imminent danger and meeting locations, if not more. Finally, she was to utilize the Hogwarts library to research anything that they needed help with. She would be going back in a week, just before school started, to meet the rest of the Pit. Grin and Marcus had been more than enough for her first day.

 

She rifled through her bag for a piece of parchment. She had always been a list-maker. She knew she didn’t have the books she would need to successfully execute her research, but they were going to Diagon Alley tomorrow, so her list of needs would best be written now.

 

When Marcus had come home, he’d been carrying little. Just his wand and a small sack of sample-sized potions. He was a striker, and the fact that he was so underprepared for the worst-case scenario put Hermione on edge.

 

  * See ancient runes section in Flourish and Blotts
  * 12 15 Dragonhide pouches
  * Beozoars
  * Decoy Detonators
  * Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder
  * Polyjuice Ingredients
  * Veritaserum Ingredients
  * Pepperup Potion
  * Blood Replenishing Potion
  * Bandages
  * Preserved Food
  * Water Canteens



 

She paused. She would have to take a foray into Muggle London for some of these items. She worried her lip with her teeth.

 

“Hermione?” Ginny’s voice floated in from the hall. “Are you alright?”

 

Hermione folded her parchment and tucked it into her pocket. “I’m fine Gin. Come in.”

 

Ginny shuffled into the room uncomfortably. “I heard your argument with Ron. He’s was a little stir crazy after you left. We tried to calm him down, but…” She shrugged helplessly.

 

“Ron is always going to think of me as the crying girl trapped in a bathroom with a troll.” Hermione muttered bitterly. “Have you noticed that he holds his friendship ransom when he’s cross? Do what he says or you get left behind. I can’t live like that Gin. Especially now.”

 

“You should tell him that.” Ginny suggested softly. “I know he’s a pain in the neck, but he does love you. You’re his best friend, and sometimes I think there might be more to it.”

  
Hermione scoffed. “Last year, I would have dated him in a heartbeat.” Hermione admitted. “But he’s such a…”

 

“Douche?”

 

Hermione laughed loudly, somewhat startled. “Yes, that does seem like the best descriptor at the moment. Besides, he would whole-heartedly disapprove of my mission.” She rolled her eyes.

 

“Can you tell me?”

 

Hermione bit her lip. Technically, the answer was no. But Ginny was also incredibly gifted at befriending people in a way that Hermione just...wasn’t. Ginny could easily be her leg up. “Maybe.” She offered. Ginny looked a little disappointed that the answer wasn’t an outright yes, but accepted that ‘maybe’ was better than a solid ‘no’. “I need to ask Professor Dumbledore. But I honestly think you’d be an asset, so I’m definitely going to argue in favor.” Hermione promised.

 

“Is it dangerous?”

 

“Not directly. At least not now.” Hermione assured her. “I’m more of a researcher at this point. I can’t tell you much more without permission.” She said apologetically.

 

“Can I help you research?”

 

“You hate ancient runes.” Hermione said blankly. Ginny wrinkled her nose.

 

“That’s true. But desperate times, you know?”

 

“Actually, I have something better for you. It’s a little bit of research, and a lot of manipulation.” Hermione winked. Manipulation was Ginny’s forte. Ginny grinned wickedly.

 

“What do you need, boss?”

 

“I’ll give you a list. I need it in a week.” Ginny nodded excitedly, eyes lighting up. Hermione jotted out a new list hurriedly, excluding the ancient runes texts. “You might need to go into muggle London. I’m sure you could convince someone to escort you.” Hermione handed her the list.

 

Ginny ran her eyes over the paper. “What on earth do you need all of this for? Planning on going on the run?”

 

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Hardly. It’s something I’m trying out. I’ll get the pouches and try to put undetectable extension charms on them. If these work, then we could have emergency kits for the whole Order. I’m trying them out on a couple people first.”

 

  
“Who?” Ginny inquired, but Hermione shook her head. “Fine. I’ll see what I can do.”

 

“I’ll ask Professor Dumbledore if he can spare some money to help you procure the more questionable items.”

 

“Sounds good. I’ll start harassing Gred and Forge.”

 

When Ginny had slipped back through the door, Hermione penned a quick note to Dumbledore.

 

_Professor,_

 

_In accordance with my duties, I was hoping you would grant a couple of requests. First, I’d like your permission to utilize and inform Ginny Weasley. She has friends in almost every Hogwarts House, and is the most likely to be able to obtain the information I need. It would keep her out of harm’s way, but also make her feel useful. I think her involvement would only be beneficial._

 

_On that note, I told her that I couldn’t tell her the details of my missive without your express permission, but I did give her a job to do. There are a collection of items that I need in order to continue my work, and I have enlisted Ginny’s help in procuring them. She won’t be able to do so without auxiliary financial assistance. Should you find my requests amiable, please send word as soon as possible._

 

_HG_

 

She snuck into Harry and Ron’s room moments later, liberating Pig from his cage and fairly hurling him out the window with her letter attached.

 

She sat next to Remus at dinner. “How was your chat with Dumbledore?” He asked casually, passing her the mashed potatoes.

 

“Enlightening.” Hermione replied. “There’s a lot more happening than I thought. I’m fairly impressed.”

 

“And I hear you got an assignment.” He said, quietly this time. “Are you happy with it?”

 

“Actually, yes. It’s fascinating.” Hermione said earnestly. “I get to do quite a bit of research. Actually, do you know any titles on translating ancient runes? I need to pick some up from Flourish and Blott’s tomorrow, but I’m not entirely sure where to start.”

 

Remus made a thoughtful noise in the back of his throat. “It depends which country of origin, to start, and how complex the translation is.”

 

“Gaelic. Incredibly complex. Bordering on impossible.” Hermione recounted somewhat bitterly. Remus’ eyebrows shot up.

 

“What are you up to, Hermione?” Hermione’s lips pinched as she stared at Remus apologetically. “Secret?” She nodded in confirmation. “Alright then. I’ll write you a list. You actually might find some good ones in the Black Library, if you feel like doing some digging tonight.” He suggested. He knew Hermione would ask for help the moment she felt she was in over her head. He didn’t think he’d ever met someone so inherently reasonable in his life.

 

Ginny slid into the seat on Hermione’s other side. She’d come into the dining room with the twins, who Hermione noticed looked decidedly sullen. “Got your Wheezes.” Ginny whispered smugly, helping herself to green beans and sausages. Hermione grinned.

 

“What do you have on them?”

 

“Last year when all of the chickens supposedly stopped laying eggs? They were using the yolks in a potion that made dad bald for three weeks.” Ginny chuckled. “Didn’t think I knew. But I know everything.”

 

“Clearly.” Hermione replied, amused.

 

Ron was glaring darkly from across the table. He recognized their hushed tones for what they were—conspirators discussing a larger plot. She was discussing her mission with Ginny, but not with him? That wouldn’t do.

* * *

Diagon Alley was hauntingly empty when they arrived the next morning. There was a chill in the air and a silence that dug its claws into their psyches. Hermione’s entire body screamed for them to get inside instead of wandering the Alley like any normal school year. The only shop that seemed to be alight and full of life was Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes.

 

Hermione and Ginny peeled off to go to Flourish and Blott’s first, armed with Remus’ list of Runic texts. She handed it to the clerk (who looked thoroughly impressed by her academic acumen) before going in search of her own school books.

 

That morning, when she had woken up, there had been a letter attached to a single phoenix feather perched on her desk.

 

**_Ms. Granger,_ **

**_I trust your judgement. If you believe Ms. Weasley will be an asset, I encourage you to utilize her however you see fit. Do be warned, however, that should her involvement arise, you will single-handedly face the ire of Mrs. Weasley. A fearsome fate, indeed._ **

**_I have placed a sizeable sum in your Gringott’s account. Use it for what you must. I will be leaving the country until the start of term. I trust in your ability to make judgement calls and keep me apprised of new developments upon my return._ **

**_Enjoy Diagon Alley tomorrow. The way things are going, we may not expect it to remain unchanged._ **

**_A. Dumbledore._ **

 

_“Ginny, wake up.” Hermione called, tossing a pillow at her snoozing friend. “Muffliato.” She muttered, jabbing her wand at the door and windows. “Gin!”_

 

_“Wassat?” Ginny grumbled, peering out from under the covers._

 

_“Do you want to hear about my assignment or not?” Hermione smiled, waving the phoenix feather for her to see._

 

So now, Ginny was completely tuned into her objectives, and was thrilled to finally be of use. She had been slightly apprehensive when she learned that Hermione was handling a houseful of Slytherins, but ultimately agreed that having them was far better than the alternative.

 

“I’ll go to Quality Quidditch Supplies while you’re at the apothecary.” Ginny said quietly. “Do they have their own brooms? Or will we have to mail order those?”

 

“I’ll ask when I check in.” Hermione replied quietly.

 

“Just need to check—you realize how nuts this is, right?” Ginny muttered as they walked to the saleswizard. Hermione nodded once.

 

“But rather brilliant, don’t you think? We get a carte blanche insight into the minds of death eater families, and a highly trained secret force. That seems to be reasonable payback for mild insanity.”

 

Ginny hummed her agreement. “Do I get to meet them?”

 

Hermione blanched. “Oh, Gin...I don’t know. That feels like too much too soon. Let’s wait until they trust me first.” Ginny pursed her lips, but Hermione understood the slump of her shoulders to mean reluctant agreement. “I don’t even really know them. I just know that Flint was a great bullying toerag when he was in school. Grin is a complete mystery.”

 

“You may be right.” Ginny admitted as the door swung open.

 

“There you two are!” Ron exclaimed loudly. The shopkeeper glared at him as though he were bellowing in a library rather than a bookstore. “We’ve been looking all over. Why didn’t you tell us where you were going?”

 

Hermione bristled, but Ginny placed a calming hand on her shoulder. “Because we’re big girls who can do shit on our own, Ron.” Ginny rolled her eyes. “Besides, we actually have things to get. It’s not our fault you decided to loiter at Fred and George’s.”

 

“Will you wait for us while we pick up our books?” Harry asked kindly. “I hate going to the apothecary without you.” He said sheepishly. Ginny shot her a sidelong glance, clearly egging her to accept so that she could go to QQS without interruption.

 

“Sure Harry. But I thought you weren’t taking potions this year?”

 

“Still. Never hurts to have a full supply for the things I _do_ know how to brew.” He shrugged. “Be prepared, constant vigilance and all that.” Hermione couldn’t help but be impressed with his foresight.

 

“Hurry up and get your books then. I’ll wait.”

 

“You lot need anything from QQS?” Ginny offered casually.

 

“You’re going?” Ron asked excitedly. “I’ll go with you!”

 

“ _Books, Ronald._ ” Hermione snarled viciously. “If you think you’re going to futz around on the quidditch team while I do all of your homework for you, you have another fucking thing coming. I have more important things to do than your schoolwork this year.”

 

Ron looked like he’d bitten into something unfathomably sour as he stomped up the stairs to retrieve his books. Ginny slipped out the door quickly as soon as he had turned away.

 

“Is that Malfoy?” Harry asked suddenly, peering out the window of the bookshop. “What are they doing? They look like they’re trying not to be seen.”

 

“Well his dad was just arrested. Probably hiding from the shame of it all.” Hermione said dismissively, though her insides contracted with anxiety. This was what made her most nervous about her assignment. Harry and Ron were unfailingly suspicious of Slytherins, especially Draco—who she had been directly asked to look out for.

 

“They’re headed for Knockturn, Hermione.” Harry disagreed. “We should go after them.”

 

Hermione scoffed. “You think we should go into Knockturn without an adult? Say they are doing something suspicious, like meeting with Death Eaters. How do you think that would go?”

 

“Well...terribly. But we have the invisibility cloak!” Hermione repressed a groan. “Hey, if I’m wrong, you can tell me you told me so. You know you love that.” He grinned.

 

Hermione turned her eyes heavenward. It was going to be a long day.


	3. The Snakes

Dumbledore had left a portkey for her to use whenever she needed to access the Pit, and the night before they would be boarding the Hogwarts Express, she used it and landed (to her chagrin) in the middle of the living room during what seemed to be a low key evening in.

 

“Oh. I thought it would put me on the front step.” Hermione said uncomfortably. She was, for all intents and purposes, surrounded. Twelve pairs of eyes blinked at her from their various positions. “Hello.”

 

“Hermione. Welcome back.” Grin greeted her calmly. Flint offered her a little wave. “Everyone, this is Hermione. Our new co-leader. She’s taking over for Dumbledore.”

 

One of them—a stunning blonde woman—scoffed. “She’s like...twelve.”

 

“She’s two years below me, Lia.” Flint said sharply. “She’s a bloody genius, too. We’re lucky to have her. What with the other bumbling messes we had as potential options.” Hermione flushed at the praise. The woman, who Hermione presumed was Amalia Rosier, was dressed in a tank top and pajama pants. Her Dark Mark stood in stark contrast to her milky skin.

 

“Espionage, I’m guessing?” Hermione asked, genuinely curious. Amalia lifted an eyebrow, somewhat caught off guard by Hermione’s care. Hermione grimaced internally. Amalia had clearly been expecting some sort of demanding superiority complex. She wondered briefly if that’s what all Slytherins thought of Gryffindors.

 

“Indeed.” Amalia muttered.

 

“Well, you’ve met Amalia.” Grin said somewhat sourly. “How about we go around the room and say our names and graduation date. Politely this time.” She shot Amalia a nasty look. Amalia just shrugged and examined her nails.

 

“Well you know me, so…” Marcus gestured at the guy next to him.

 

“I’m Anwar Shafiq.” He greeted quietly. He was a slight man, but menacing. His eyes were endlessly dark and his hair hung in a shadowing fringe. There was a scar etched into his face from the bridge of his nose to his collar bone. “Graduated in ‘89. I’m a Striker.”

 

The almost impossibly tall man next to him said: “I’m Lawrence Greengrass. ‘90, Espionage.” He flashed his dark mark.

 

There was a pretty, polished (almost preppy) woman to across from him. She had pouty lips, an upturned nose and glossy black hair. “Primrose Parkinson. ‘91. Espionage.” She was wearing long sleeves, but by now Hermione knew that there was a Dark Mark printed into her skin.

 

“I’m Meridian Fawley.” He looked incredibly average. Sure, he was tall and lean, but he had dirty blonde, almost brown hair that was neatly cropped. Brown eyes, and perfectly symmetrical facial features. “Research. Graduated ‘94.” Hermione frowned. 1994 was recent enough for her to remember him. “I kept to myself.” He smiled self deprecatingly. “I’m the only Slytherin in my family in the last six generations.”

 

“Theomer Rowle.” The stocky one said. He was shorter, but built. He reminded her of a bludger. “Cleanup, graduated ‘89.”

 

“Joshua Selwyn. Striker, ‘90.” He was quietly regal—his features pointed but not thin. Tall but not lanky. Quiet but not disconcerting. Hermione couldn’t help but think of Goldilocks and how she would have labeled him “just right”.

 

“Adonis Pucey.” Hermione snorted. “Hey now. Careful with my ego. It’s fragile.” Adonis grinned. “I’m cleanup. Graduated ‘91.” Adonis was hardly an Adonis, but also wasn’t displeasing to look at. “You can call me Don. I mean, how pretentious is Adonis, really?” Hermione released a small laugh that would have been termed a giggle were it not so quiet.

 

“Calendula Flint. Cleanup. ‘91. Marc’s my little brother.” She intoned gruffly. She was deceptively pretty. There was something asymmetrical about her, but it was the same asymmetricality that her brother possessed. It drew the eye—forced you to look twice. She and her brother had both grown into their looks, and they both looked quietly menacing. Dark hair, dark eyes, square jaws and strong bodies.

 

“Rhiannon MacDougal.” The only redhead in the room—but unlike the Weasley’s red, it was the color of rust—dark and rich against constellations of freckles and icy blue eyes. “Research. ‘88.” So she was the oldest. Was Grin in charge because she had founded the faction? Was it a meritocracy? Based on what she’d seen of Grin’s mental acrobatics, it was a heady combination of both.

 

“It’s wonderful to meet you all.” Hermione smiled around the room. “And, as a “thank you for accepting me into your lives without notice”, I bring gifts.” Her supply-collecting with Ginny had paid off. Even better, when Professor Snape had learned of her intention to supply the Pit with high caliber healing and concealment potions, he had supplied them premade from his private stores. Their emergency kits were completely finished, and her undetectable extension charms had been flawless. She passed the dragonhide pouches around the room. At the questioning glances, she elaborated. “I noticed that you go into the field with rather minimal equipment, even though you’re in a rather dangerous spot and all use a singular safehouse. These are extensive emergency kits. There are still a couple pieces missing, but I’ll be filling in those gaps as I can receive supplies.”

 

Grin reached her whole arm into the bag, and began pulling out the supplies that Hermione had packed for them. Everything from tents to “A Field Guide For Emergency Medical Magic” had been included. “Hermione…”

 

“Oh! And if you have brooms, you should put those in as well. If you don’t have one, we’ll mail-order some for you. Just let me know.”

 

“Hermione, this is…”

 

“It’s fantastic.” Marcus smiled up at her. Hermione noted that somewhere along the line, he’d fixed his teeth. “Really, thank you so much for this.”

 

Grin just stared at her fondly. Amalia was scrutinizing her as though she were an enigma. Anwar picked up a Decoy Detonator. “What on earth is this?” He asked, turning it over in his hand.

 

“They’re one of Fred and George Weasley’s inventions, made specifically for Aurors. They’re called Decoy Detonators. If you need to create a diversion, you drop them and they run the other direction. Once they’re far enough away to give you an adequate diversion, they explode.”

 

“Those two never fail to surprise me.” Primrose said somewhat fondly. Hermione raised an eyebrow but said nothing. “You remember the time they charmed all the ladies’ room toilets to serenade us with muggle love songs?” She asked the ladies in the room.

 

“That was a good one. I thought it was clever when they charmed the bust of Bartleby Cuthbert to yell expletives at Professors.” Calendula giggled. “I saw McGonagall as she passed by it and she jumped so high that her hat fell off. I’ve never laughed so hard in my life.”

 

Hermione couldn’t help but grin at the thought. “The only time I’ve seen McGonagall surprised is when we literally knocked out a troll in the girls bathroom. Everything else just seemed like minor surprises.” And just like that, the room was silent again. “What?” She asked self-consciously. They were staring at her. Except Marcus. Marcus was smirking.

 

“You knocked out a troll? When was this? Why was there a troll in Hogwarts?” Rhianon demanded.

 

Marcus laughed aloud. “Oh, man. Ever since those three came to Hogwarts, we haven’t had a single quiet year. The shit they got into in their first year alone.”

 

“It wasn’t that bad.” Hermione defended herself hotly. “And it’s not like we went _looking_ for trouble. It just kinda...followed us.”

 

“Oh I don’t doubt that. But trouble finds you a lot. Get this,” He turned to his sister, a glint in his eye. “In their first year, they defeated a mountain troll that the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor let in the castle, smuggled a dragon out of the castle, hypnotized a three-headed dog, and saved the philosopher’s stone from Voldemort.”

 

“How did you know about the Philosopher’s Stone?”

 

“Snape.” He said as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. Then again, it kind of was. He continued. “In their _second_ year, they broke into the Chamber of Secrets, killed a basilisk, destroyed a diary that was killing a girl to steal her lifeforce so that Voldemort could return, and freed one of the Malfoy house elves.”

 

“We also polyjuiced into Slytherins to break into your common room to find out if you knew who the Heir of Slytherin was.” She added quickly. “Sorry about that.”

 

“You brewed polyjuice in your second year?” Grin asked, admiration dripping from her tone. “That’s brilliant. How did you get hair from Slytherins?”

 

Hermione flushed. “I might have put sleeping potions in cupcakes and given them to Crabbe and Goyle.” She admitted, rubbing her neck uncomfortably. “I actually didn’t end up seeing the inside of the common room. I was supposed to be Millicent Bullstrode, but I plucked a cat hair off her robes by mistake, so…” She cleared her throat. “It was a bit of a disaster.”

 

Even Amalia was grinning wildly at this point. “Alright, I get why she was picked. If she weren’t Muggleborn, she definitely would have been in Slytherin.” Hermione tried very hard not to preen at Amalia’s praise.

 

“Sirius told us that you were responsible for saving him from a Dementor’s Kiss in your third year. And that you discovered Lupin was a werewolf.” Grin gazed at her, fascinated. “I’d love to hear everything else you’ve done, but something tells me we’d be up all night if we cracked into your life story.”

 

“We’ll have plenty of time for the rest of it later.” Hermione promised. “I do need to head back to Headquarters soon, but before I go, I was hoping you could tell me what you’re focusing on so that I can keep track during my status updates?” She pulled a notepad and quill from her own little beaded bag. Grin eyed it apprehensively. “I’ve hexed the page so that anyone who doesn’t speak the password in conjunction with the correct wand movement will be Petrified until I release them.” She assured her quickly.

 

“Right. Well you already know that I’m working on a series of Runic translations. Dumbledore also asked us,” she gestured to the research team. “To research dark magic that could have brought the Dark Lord back. It’s been difficult, but we think we’re on the verge of finding something, and whatever it is, it’s ugly.” She grimaced. “We’ll keep you apprised and send notes with you after our next meeting.”

 

“The strike team has been doing minor sabotage work. Occasionally we’ll get a tip from an Order member to off a higher-ranking member, but we’re trying to trim his numbers in lower ranks.” Anwar told her blithely. Hermione wasn’t entirely sure how he could remain so casual when talking about murder. “More recently, we’ve been intercepting ambassadors to cut off his spread. Last year we intercepted a convoy to the giant colony and picked all but two off.”

 

Amalia spoke next. “Espionage has been attending meetings and tipping off Order members when we can for larger attacks so that fatalities can be lower. We’re mostly keeping eyes and ears out for any information we can pass off to research.”

 

Hermione paused them. “See if you can find out about anything happening at Borgin and Burke’s.” She suggested. “I’m not sure if Draco Malfoy is a Death Eater, but he was in there last week and he very clearly didn’t want to be seen. I know Voldemort is angry with the Malfoys, so perhaps…”

 

“We’ll look out for it.” Amalia assured her. “The Dark Lord has taken up residence in Malfoy Manor.” She admitted. “It’s the Death Eaters’ base of operations. Draco and Narcissa have been in a lot of inner circle meetings that I’m simply not privy to, and Snape won’t talk about it. You should keep an eye on Draco, if you can.”

 

Hermione nodded, jotting the memo down in her pad. “Harry has his knickers in a bunch about it.” She grumbled. “I don’t know how I’ll get anything done with him snooping around in the periphery.”

 

“Gryffindors.” Marcus scoffed teasingly. She shot him a dirty look.

 

“Cleanup has been coming in after the strike team to make sure any witnesses don’t remember our faces and cleanse the area of evidence that could lead back to the espionage team.” Calendula informed her crisply. “Obliviating muggles, vanishing bodies. That sort of thing. Sometimes we go hand in hand with strike, too.”

 

Hermione nodded, then paused. She looked around the room, and the faces of the people she was now essentially responsible for. “I don’t know if anyone has said this to you yet, but thank you.” She met the eyes of every individual in the room. “What you’re doing is incredibly dangerous and incredibly brave. And it can’t be easy, standing against your families. Just...thank you.”

 

There was a long silence, which Grin broke with her bell-like laugh. “That’s what Lord Voldemort doesn’t get. What’s the good in being in power, if there’s no one there to see your glory?” She winked. “Besides. You muggleborns aren’t so bad.”

 

Sensing an emotional onslaught, Hermione stood abruptly. “Well, I’ve got to get going.” She said hurriedly

 

“You’re staying for dinner.” Grin stopped her in her tracks. “Rhia and Meridian cooked. If the bonding gets too emotional, we can all go into different rooms and reconvene when the Hufflepuff moment passes.” She promised.

 

Hermione was blushing furiously. “Sorry. My two best friends are pubescent boys. Emotions and vulnerability aren’t really a thing. Even with Ginny. She has six brothers, so…” She shrugged.

 

“Well you’re in luck. Slytherins in general are pretty pants at emotions, too.” Grin smiled.


	4. Confrontation

“Wow.” Ginny muttered. They were eating breakfast ridiculously early so that they could speak without worrying who would overhear. “Intense. They’re really doing a lot for us. It’s kinda shitty that no one knows about them.”

 

“It’s for their safety.” Hermione said sadly. “I can tell they’re all restless and frustrated. But at least they have each other. Grin, Primrose, Lawrence and Don are worried about their siblings. They’re still at Hogwarts and they honestly don’t know which way they’ll swing.”

 

“Primrose Parkinson. I can’t even imagine it.” Ginny spread an even layer of marmalade on her toast. “I met her once. I was at the Ministry waiting for dad, and she burst into his office and started screaming about the accusations levied against her father for muggle-baiting.” She recounted. “She’s some sort of expert on magical contracts and for some reason knows every law ever passed by the Wizengamot even though she’s a curse breaker.”

 

Hermione absorbed the information about her new colleague like a sponge. “She’s really concerned about Pansy.” She said quietly. “I mentioned her last night and I could feel her spine tighten from across the room. Apparently, from what she’s seen of her little sister, she’s practically begging to get marked.”

 

Ginny shuddered. “Well that wouldn’t exactly surprise me. But Grin told you to keep an open mind, right? That Slytherins play everything close to the vest?” Hermione nodded. “I wonder who she is.”

 

“What?”

 

“Peregrine Morelle is not a pureblood name. It’s just not.” Ginny said flatly. “She’s going by a pseudonym.”

 

“Oh, I know. Didn’t I tell you?” Hermione asked, somewhat flustered. “Her father put a hit out on her when she tried to lure her younger brother over to our side, so she changed her name and went underground. She’s been in hiding for like six years.”

 

Ginny was gaping. “What?”

 

“Yeah. I could have sworn I told you that.”

 

“Definitely not.” Ginny squeaked. “Morelle isn’t a Pureblood name, so she still might be from a Sacred Twenty-Eight family.”

 

“Oh, she is. She mentioned that last night.” Ginny goggled at her. “What?”

 

“You can figure out who she is!”

 

Hermione blanched. “I could. We both know I could. But if she hasn’t told me herself, then I need to respect her privacy, right? Besides, if her father put a taboo on her name, which is _entirely possible_ based on the laws of Damnatio Memoriae, she could be put in serious danger if we say her given name aloud.”

 

Ginny looked vaguely horrified now. “I don’t know anything about Damnatio Memoriae. Where did you hear about it?”

 

“Grin.”

 

Ginny threw her hands up. “Of course. And I assume you did boatloads of research?” Hermione blushed but nodded. “Brilliant. So we only find out who she is when…”

 

“Her father dies or the war is over?”

 

“Brilliant. Sounds great. I guess she has a unique perspective on the motivations of Slytherin students.” Ginny sighed. “So we organically find ways to buddy up to Slytherins?”

 

“Sounds about right.”

 

They finished their breakfasts quickly and locked themselves back in their rooms. Hermione had given Ginny her notebook to study, which had turned out to be quite a good idea. The redhead added notes about each member when she found information on them or knew them from prior experience. She was also in a prime place to ask her brothers about them, since Bill had gone to school with most of them, as had Charlie, Fred and George.

 

Hermione spent her last few hours translating the text that Grin had passed onto her. From what she could tell, it was an incredibly powerful ritual, and she was currently decoding the wand movements that needed to be made. More importantly, the ritual she was decoding was ancient, and had very little margin for error. From her brief look at Grin’s notes on the Potions aspect, she knew that a substituted ingredient would churn the potion, and if all the spell was performed correctly with an insufficient potion, your soul would be stripped. It was not a pleasant ritual. At all.

 

“Hermione? Ginny, dear! It’s time to go!” Molly’s voice carried up the staircase. Hermione jerked in shock, eyes snapping to Ginny and then to her watch.

 

“How on _earth_ did time get away from us?” Hermione cried.

 

“Why are you panicking?” Ginny asked incredulously. “We’re packed and we’ve already eaten.”

 

“I didn’t even tidy up the room!”

 

Ginny looked at her like she’d grown an extra head. “You’ve never done that before!”

 

“Oh, um...I usually wait until all of our things are downstairs. Then I come up and make the beds. Cast a quick scourgify.”

 

“You. Are. Neurotic.” Ginny’s disbelief was tangible.

 

“I’m neat. But we’re late. Let’s go!”

 

“Neurotic.” Ginny insisted as they levitated their things down the stairs.

 

“Good morning, girls.” Molly greeted them warmly. Hermione had been somewhat frosty towards the Weasley matron of late. When Sirius had been alive, she had been unnecessarily harsh to the confined man. Hermione hadn’t been that much better—always getting after him about how he treated Kreacher—but she still considered him a friend, and mourned his loss deeply. Molly had made it clear that she thought of Sirius as little more than a invalid manchild. Less than a month after his death, she had attempted to purge his room. Harry had lost it.

 

“Good morning, Mrs. Weasley.” Hermione greeted quietly. If Molly noticed anything off, she didn’t say anything.

 

“Did you girls have breakfast already?” They nodded. “Wonderful. Out to the car then.” She shooed them along.

 

“See you at Christmas, mum.” Ginny gave her a quick hug.

 

Fred and George helped them stuff their trunks into the already crammed car. “Thank you for the Wheezes, boys.” Hermione smiled at them.

 

“Can’t wait to see how you use them.” Fred grinned.

 

“Maybe little Mione will surprise us this year.” George said seriously. Hermione scoffed.

 

“Not for truancy and chaos. Ok. Well maybe for a little chaos. Whatever.” She waved it away before giving them both quick hugs.

 

“Miss you already Granger.”

 

“Yeah, yeah.” She grinned, getting into the car. She slid in, giving a parting grin to the twins, and came face to face with Ron. Harry was to his left. “Morning boys.”

 

“Late start?” Harry joked.

 

“Early one actually.” Hermione sniped back, nudging him with her foot. “Gin and I got up early to finish packing. Had breakfast around six.”

 

“Six?” Ron spluttered. “What on earth did you need to be up that early for? You were mostly packed last night!”

 

“I wanted to keep working on my research project. Ginny finished up her summer reading.” Hermione replied casually. On the inside, her gut twisted with anxiety. Ron had been trying to coax her assignment out of her for a week, claiming that if it were something dangerous, it would be better if they knew. Two days ago, they’d had a knock-down drag-out about it in the middle of Grimmauld. He’d called her a self important swot with a book up her arse and she’d called him a narrow minded patriarchal luddite. It had been understandably tense since then. If he found out she was working with Slytherins, he’d likely implode. And single-handedly ruin her mission and endanger the residents of the Pit. She wouldn’t be able to let her guard down around him until the war was over.

 

“Still. Six in the morning, Hermione. That’s practically inhuman.” He cried. Harry and Hermione shared a grin. It looked like they would be attempting something that resembled normal.

* * *

When they reached King’s Cross, they were greeted by their undercover protective detail and were escorted across the barrier. They were immediately greeted by the sight of a frazzled Draco Malfoy. Well, actually, frazzled may have been the wrong word. Unsettlingly quiet. No sneer, not jeers. His hair was somewhat rumpled, like he’d been running his hands through it. He looked paler than normal, and he was singularly focused on hauling his trunk onto the train. His goons weren’t anywhere in sight, and he barely even noticed Pansy and Blaise when they slid up to him. None of them were smiling. They spoke quietly, casting jittery glances around the platform every few seconds.

 

Hermione met Ginny’s eyes, trying to see if the younger girl was interpreting the scene the same way she was. The Slytherins were scared.

 

Ginny nodded at her quickly, and set about distracting Harry while Hermione levitated their trunks to the storage compartment. A moment later, she was standing right next to Malfoy and he went silent and ramrod straight. “Morning, Malfoy. Parkinson, Zabini.” She said coolly, as though civility were a burden. “Enjoy your summers?”

 

Pansy looked at her like she’d lost the plot. “You hit your head, Granger?”

 

“I did, as a matter of fact. Back in early August. No lasting damage though.” It was true. When Fred and George were playing a prank on their mother, they had barrelled around the corner and slammed into her, knocking her back. She’d hit her head on the floor rather hard.

 

“She _means_ …” Zabini started, iritated.

 

“I know what she means, Zabini.” Hermione cut him off. “Call me dirty all you’d like, but you can’t say I’m stupid.” Her voice was light—almost joking—but her eyes were steel. His mouth snapped shut, and she could discern a begrudging respect there.

 

“Our summers were fine Granger. Draco’s wasn’t, though.” Pansy told her sharply, as though the blame lay with the muggleborn.

 

Her eyes finally turned back to Draco. His face was such an odd amalgamation of emotions, she couldn’t pick out which was most prevalent. There was fury, confusion, fear, disgust and outrage. “I’m sorry for what happened to your father.” His face broke into a sneer.

 

“You’re the _reason_ for what happened to my father.”

 

“Your father tried to kill me and got caught breaking into the Department of Mysteries while assaulting fifteen year olds. I should clarify. I’m sorry that your father’s arrest is affecting you negatively. You are just a teenager. Like the rest of us.” She paused and let that soak in. “I am _not_ sorry that the man who thinks that I should be eradicated just because I was _born_ is in a place where he can’t hurt me, though.” She said softly. She stared at them as that sunk in. Any outrage that lived on their faces before was slowly melting into incredulity. “See you three around.”

 

She turned on her heel and strode back to her friends, leaving a thoroughly perplexed silence in her wake.


	5. Breach

“Well at least we know that she keeps her word.” Rhiannon told the rest of her house mates loudly. “Although she has all the subtlety of a hippogriff in mating season.”

 

Rhiannon and Meridian had been sent to Platform 9¾ to determine which Slytherin families were still in attendance, and which families could be scouted for recruitment. It hadn’t been a promising trip, but then Hermione had approached the Slytherin Trio. She’d been right on the money, and had certainly said the right thing. She was just such a  _ Gryffindor. _

 

“What do you mean, Rhia?” Grin croaked tiredly from the couch. She’d been taking a nap when they burst back into the Pit. 

 

Meridian chuckled. “Granger got to the Platform, took one look at Draco and marched right up to him levitating four trunks, and ask him how his summer went.” 

 

Grin sat up straight. Her eyes wide and mouth gaping. “What?”

 

“Asked him how his summer went and said she was sorry for what happened to his father because of how it was affecting him, but  _ not  _ because Lucius was in prison.”

 

“You’re  _ kidding _ .” 

 

“Not even a little.” Meridian was out-and-out laughing now. “Whatever happens from here on out, you  _ can’t _ deny she’s got iron balls.”

 

Amalia (who had been cuddling Grin while they watched some muggle TV show about a discipline called forensic anthropology) snorted from her reclined position. “I never said she didn’t have iron balls. Most Gryffindors do. They just rarely know how to use them to their best advantage.”

 

“I think Granger knows how.” Rhiannon stated. “She’s something else.”

 

Primrose trotted out of the kitchen with a tray of sandwiches and tea. “Oh! You’re back. Did you see Pansy?”

 

“You saw her this morning, Prim.” Meridian rolled his eyes. 

 

“She puts up a front with me.” Primrose stated matter-of-factly. “She doesn’t let me see any anxiety or wavering. Just pure commitment and slight mania.”

 

“Maybe she’s just a maniac.” Amalia drawled. Primrose shot her a nasty glare. 

 

“Maybe you’re just Peregrin’s fangirl.” She snapped coldly. Grin gave her a reproachful look. “What? She doesn’t have siblings to worry about.”

 

“You’re right. Just parents who will certainly kill her if they find out what she’s been up to. Still, Lia. Don’t drag our siblings until we’re certain they’re shysters.” Grin scolded them both. For a split second, Amalia looked remorseful. Primrose looked reluctantly apologetic as well. “Excellent. Very diplomatic, both of you.” Grin rolled her eyes. 

 

“How did she look, Rhia?” Primrose asked softly. 

 

Rhiannon bit her lip. “Quiet. Shifty. Nervous. She, Zabini and Draco were together. Draco looked the worst, and she mostly looked concerned for him. And then Granger barged into their conversation and asked them about their summers and I about had a stroke.” She stared at Primrose with clear concern. “I think you have reason to hope that she’ll take the out if it’s offered.”

 

Primrose nodded, setting down the sandwiches. She was clearly subdued by worry, but did her best to move forward with what she had. 

 

“Is that all you had for your status report?” Grin asked suddenly. “I need to resume my nap. I’m exhausted.” They all waved her off, so she curled back into Amalia’s side and fell asleep. 

 

“She’s running herself ragged with that project.” Amalia murmured once she was sure her friend had relapsed into sleep. 

 

“It’s important to her. It’s only natural that she’d want to bring something back when she’s lost so much.” Primrose muttered back. “Eat your sandwich, Lia.”

 

“I hope Granger is as smart as everyone says she is.” Amalia sighed, taking a sandwich and reclining back into the couch. “Maybe then they’ll actually get this done and this ridiculous creature will actually sleep.”

 

“Where are the boys?” Rhiannon asked, settling into a squishy chair. 

 

“There are six boys in this house, Rhia.” Amalia sighed.

 

“Ok, so besides Meridian, where are the  _ other _ boys.”

 

“Lawrence is with his parents discussing potential marriage matches. Theomer and Don are screwing around upstairs. The strike boys are prepping an ambush with Calendula.” Primrose counted off on her fingers.

 

“A new ambush? Who?”   
  


“Ambassadors to werewolves.”

 

“Someone should remind them to look out for Lupin.” Meridian suggested. “Not it.”

 

“What are we, twelve?” Amalia snorted. “Expecto Patronum.” A little wispy swallow burst from her wand. “Remind Anwar to look out for Lupin during their attack.” She crooned. It lingered for a moment before darting away. 

 

“I still can’t cast a corporeal one.” Primrose grumbled. “What memory do you think of?”

 

“That’s a little personal.” Amalia sneered sourly. 

 

“Please? Until Hermione comes up with something, this is all we’ve got to communicate.” She fairly begged. They were all inlaid into couches or chairs now, in full energy-decline. 

 

“The day that Grin told me I could join her and do something good with my life. The day she promised me I wouldn’t be a senseless murderer.” She admitted. “It was this weird combination of hope, relief, joy and pain. It was perfect.”

 

Primrose smiled, and softened towards her teammate. They may not get along—ever—but she could relate. Grin had saved them all.

* * *

 

It was the first day of classes at Hogwarts, and it was already going horribly. Because Slughorn was teaching Potions, Harry and Ron had decided to take the class after all, and Harry had stumbled across a book that had been formerly owned by someone who called himself the “Half Blood Prince”, and it had all manner of marginal notes, from improvements to Potions to untested spells. Hermione was thoroughly hacked off. Harry would be getting credit for work that wasn’t even his. Just today, he’d won their little in-class brewing competition, and the reward had been a bottle of Felix Felicis. Not that Harry didn’t need it, but he was extremely unlikely to share such a bounty, and Hermione had a distinct and edging feeling that she’d need it to get close to the Slytherins. 

 

“Since when is Potter good at brewing potions?” She heard a male voice grumble from the next aisle over. She was holed up in the library with her translations, and she was so far back that she didn’t expect anyone to be within earshot. 

 

“Probably getting private tutelage.” She recognized Pansy’s voice immediately. “Can’t have their golden boy underperforming for the masses.” She snorted. 

 

“As much as I’d like to speculate about Potter’s special treatment, I have things to do. Can we focus, please?” Draco Malfoy’s tired voice crept through the shelves. 

 

“Charms or Transfiguration first?” Pansy asked soothingly. 

 

“Transfiguration.” 

 

“If you’d let us help—” The other male (Blaise, she’d gathered) said softly. 

 

“I don’t want you two involved. It’s dangerous enough as it is.” Malfoy muttered. Hermione frowned. They were being incredibly careless. They didn’t even check the other stacks to see if they could be overheard.

 

“We’re involved either way, Draco.” Pansy insisted. “We can’t let you do this alone. I can barely believe we’re letting you do this at all.”

 

Hermione could help but be touched by how protective they were being. This was a side of them she’d never witnessed, and Grin’s words came floating back to her.  _ “ _ _ I need you to not assume that Slytherin is synonymous with evil, and consider that outward appearances in Slytherin are often carefully crafted for our own self-preservation.”  _

 

“Can we please just write the essay.” Malfoy pleaded. Hermione cringed at the quiet desperation in his tone. His companions must have agreed, because they settled into a silence, only breaking it to ask a question or give an answer. Hermione turned back to her runic translation. She’d pulled her masses of hair into a messy bun at the top of her head, taken off her tie and shed her robe, and was steadily sprawling across the desk as she collected more texts and parchment for her translations. 

 

“What the fuck.” She heard Malfoy growl. She did her utmost to stay still and pretend he hadn’t heard him. “Granger!” He barked. She remained unmoving, scribbling her notes out as though he weren’t there. Her heart was pounding. He marched over to her and grabbed her by the shoulders, yanking her around to face him. “What did you hear?” He snarled.

 

Her eyes were wide with shock, and she reached for her wand, pointing it at the side of her head. “Finite Incantatum.” She muttered. “What did you say? No, wait, what are you doing?” She demanded.

 

“What. Did. You. Hear.” He growled.

 

“I didn’t even know you were here!” She cried. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

 

“You’re sitting one stack over and didn’t hear anything we said? Bullshit, Granger.” He snapped fiercely, eyes blazing with fury. 

 

“I was using my dampening charm. I always use it in the library because philistines like you  _ talk in here. _ ” She snarled back. 

 

“Prove it.” He said coldly. 

 

“Fine. But for the record, I don’t owe you jack shit.” She pointed her wand at his right ear. “Nullo Aliam.” She hissed. “Can you hear me, Malfoy?” His eyes widened and he shook his head. “Great. Because you’re the most pungent arsehole I’ve ever met, and I hope you take a long walk off a short pier. Maybe it would wash some of that obnoxious product out of your greasy hair. You’re an absolute wank falcon, and I hope you get a cactus stuck up your arse you poncy git.” She smiled when Blaise couldn’t contain his guffaw from the aisle over. “Finite Incantatum.” She couldn’t help but preen when he stared at her with begrudging admiration. “Satisfied?”

 

“Quite.” He muttered. He turned to go. 

 

“I’m sorry, are you forgetting something?”

 

“What?” He asked waspishly. 

 

“Oh, I don’t know. An apology for accosting me, or the completely unfounded eavesdropping accusation?” She shrugged sarcastically. “Something along those lines.”

 

“Can you honestly blame me for assuming you were eavesdropping? I’ll apologize for accosting you though. Sorry.” He said it as though there were a sour taste in his mouth, but she was stunned to silence nonetheless. He nodded at her uncomfortably before rejoining his counterparts. 

 

She lifted her wand and muttered her spell, but didn’t aim for her own cranium. Satisfied that she couldn’t hear them, Blaise laughed out loud. “Oh man. I may hate her, but she’s got spunk.”

 

“What did she say?”

 

“She called you a pungent arsehole, a wank falcon, and said she hoped you’d get a cactus stuck up your arse.” Pansy parroted dryly. “Honestly, Blaise, it’s not  _ that _ funny.”

 

“What the fuck is a  _ wank falcon _ ?” Malfoy hissed, horrified. Hermione bit her lip to keep from laughing. 

 

“That’s your question?” Pansy asked incredulously. “I want to know what the fuck is up with Granger!”


	6. Commencement

“Here’s the first set of translations. What else do you have for me?” Hermione grinned tiredly. Grin looked up at her, shocked. “What?”

 

The whole Pit was there, staring at her. “You completed these in a month?” Grin croaked. “You can’t ditch your studies to do these.”

 

Hermione scoffed. “Clearly you don’t know me very well. Abandoning my studies is hardly my style. I’m months ahead of the curriculum already. This was a fun side project.” Grin gaped at her. 

 

“It took me three months to do the first set.” She breathed. 

 

“Research is a hobby of mine.” Hermione admitted. “Mind if I sit?” Grin shook her head, gesturing to the couch. Hermione flopped down with a contented sigh. “They were difficult. I’m a sucker for a challenge. It would be easier if you told me what you were doing, though.” She hinted.

 

Grin considered that, worrying her lip with her teeth. “Not yet.” She said apologetically. “I’m sorry. I just don’t want to get your hopes up in case we don’t succeed.”

 

“Fair enough.” Hermione couldn’t help feeling like it was because they didn’t completely trust her, but she recognized that knowledge and trust had to be earned. Especially where Slytherins were involved. “I have some information that the Espionage team might want to look into.” She continued. 

 

Amalia, Primrose and Lawrence sat a little straighter. “Shoot.” Primrose smiled. 

 

“I overheard Draco, Pansy and Blaise in the library the other day. Malfoy is working on something besides schoolwork that he doesn’t want Pansy or Blaise’s help with. They want to help though.” Hermione assured Primrose, who had opened her mouth to ask that very question. “He said it was dangerous enough that they even knew what he was working on, and Pansy said they were involved either way, and that she was shocked they were letting him go through with it at all.”

 

Hermione’s eyes never left Primrose. If they had, she’d have noticed Grin going startlingly pale. Calendula put a comforting hand on his leader’s shoulder. 

 

“Did you get any idea of what they were talking about?” Marcus asked seriously. “If he was given an assignment to do at school—”

 

“I know. Can’t be good.” Hermione grimaced. “I have three guesses, but without more information, they’re really just that. Either he’s trying to lure someone out of the school, get something or someone into the school, or create something with school resources that would benefit Voldemort.” The room flinched. “Oh, honestly.”

 

“Habit.” Marcus said quickly. 

 

“Thank you Hermione.” Primrose smiled softly. “We’ll keep an eye out.”

 

“More importantly, Blaise and Pansy disapprove of whatever Draco’s been told to do.” Hermione smiled encouragingly. “I think those are two baskets we can consider putting eggs in.”

 

“That’s the metaphor you chose?” Amalia snorted. Anwar grinned, clearly amused. Hermione was shocked at how bright his face looked when he smiled, even with the fringe and the scar. 

 

“I have to take it easy with the outreach stuff for a little while. Harry is suspicious of Draco and takes every waking moment to check that stupid map for him—”

 

“I’m sorry, what?” Meridian demanded. 

 

“What map?” Marcus asked. 

 

“Oh, um…” She cleared her throat uncomfortably. She was about to breach the sanctity of her friend’s secrets. “Harry’s father and his three best friends created this map of Hogwarts. It shows every person’s location within the grounds.” 

 

“That’s brilliant.” Meridian breathed. “If we could do that for all of the inner circle homes…”

 

Hermione jerked, shocked by the revelation. She had never considered how the magic of the map could be applied beyond Hogwarts walls, and she was ashamed of herself for it. “Oh my god.” 

 

“Give her a list of diagnostic spells to try, Meridian.” Grin suggested somewhat demandingly. 

 

“Of course.” He practically sprinted from the room in his excitement. 

 

“Last thing.” Hermione took a deep breath, bracing herself. “I have an idea of how we can communicate. Last year, I charmed a bunch of Galleons with a protean charm to communicate with other students who were meeting in secret to learn defensive magic when Umbridge wouldn’t teach us. Unfortunately, Galleons aren’t the most reliable options, since they can get lost. That’s something Lord Voldemort might have gotten right.” She grimaced. 

 

“You...want to give us branding tattoos?” Grin asked in disbelief. 

 

“Not brands.” She shook her head fiercely. “A simple tattoo that we all share that will change when one of us needs something. No binding magic, no compulsion or dark magic. A protean charmed tattoo. I already have an idea for where the words would go and what the words should be, if you’re all amenable. I’d be getting one too.” She promised. 

 

That made all the difference. With the Dark Mark, Death Eaters were bound to Lord Voldemort without any reciprocal bond, since he didn’t possess one himself. She would be binding herself to them. 

 

“That’s a heavy responsibility to take on.” Amalia warned her. “You’ll have us with you all the time.”

 

“I’ve factored that into my considerations already. And in time, there’s another person I’d like to introduce to you. Ginny Weasley.” 

 

“Weaslette?” Marcus blurted, shocked. “I’m sorry, doesn’t she hate Slytherins like the rest of her tribe?”

 

“She hates assholes.” Hermione shrugged. “She’s more of a case-by-case hater than a blanket-category hater. Ron is the hate-first, ask-questions-second hater.” 

 

“Oh please! As clever as the twins are and as charming as you may find them, they hate Slytherins just because they’re Slytherins.” Marcus argued. “Most Gryffindors do.”

 

“Oh come on—”

 

“Draco, Blaise, Pansy, Theo, Milly, Vince and Greg were  _ all _ booed right after they were sorted. Can you imagine that? Nervous, not knowing most of the students, and being booed right after your sorting?” Marcus snapped. “No. You can’t, because you were cheered after a ten-minute hat-stall.”

 

“I—uh…” Hermione wasn’t sure she actually remembered her sorting. She’d practically blacked out from anxiety. “Well that’s terrible.” She huffed. She made a mental note to scold Fred and George for that later. “Look, Ginny’s got an evolved sense of perspective that a lot of the Weasleys don’t have. Fred and George have grown some of that too. We’ve all come to realize that Gryffindor doesn’t unequivocally mean bravery, Ravenclaw doesn’t steadfastly mean logical, Hufflepuff almost never means delicate, and Slytherin doesn’t necessarily mean vicious.” She paused. “Except Ron, who seems incapable of setting aside petty rivalries.” She rolled her eyes. 

 

“And how exactly did you come to these conclusions?” Grin asked. From her tone, Hermione knew that their acceptance of Ginny, and perhaps their acceptance of the Protean Tattoos would be decided by her answer. 

 

“Peter Pettigrew. Percy Weasley. Luna Lovegood. Cedric Diggory. Horace Slughorn.” She recited thoughtfully. “Pettigrew was Sirius, Lupin, and James Potter’s best friend, and he was a Gryffindor. You probably know him best as Wormtail.” She said quietly. A breathless, still quiet overcame them. “Percy Weasley denounced Harry at the beginning of last year, and said that anyone who sided with Dumbledore was clearly barmy. He was also a Gryffindor. Luna Lovegood is a Ravenclaw with a heart of gold. She believes in Nargles and Crumple-Horned Snorkacks. Cedric was a Hufflepuff who competed for first place in the Triwizard Tournament, and got killed by Voldemort. His soul’s imprint saved Harry from certain death. And I don’t know Slughorn all that well. Ambitious and cunning seem to suit him, but he’s about as vicious as a kitten.” She shrugged. “None of them really lived their house values. Personally, I think eleven is far too young to be accurately sorted. Not when we’re all learning and growing constantly.”

 

Their eyes turned to Grin for the final decision. She considered Hermione thoughtfully, raking her eyes over the younger girl thoughtfully. “I’m not sure about Ginny Weasley, but I’m comfortable with sharing a Protean Tattoo with you.” She said finally. Amalia still looked hesitant, but everyone else looked on board. 

 

“Easier than I thought it would be, to be honest.” Hermione admitted. 

 

“Where and what do you intend to indelibly affix to our bodies?” Amalia asked. 

 

“I was thinking the left shoulder. It could say “Per Angusta ad Agusta.” She suggested meekly. “It means—”

 

“Through difficulties to honors.” Amalia murmured, eyes softening. “That’s appropriate.” 

 

“I thought so.” Hermione agreed. There was a dull excitement stewing in the pit of her chest. Amalia was her final frontier. Once Amalia had accepted her, there could be a true, open give and take.

 

“When?” Calendula asked from next to Marcus. She was remarkably soft spoken—often fading into the background. It always surprised Hermione when she spoke. 

 

“I have some more research to do. Ideally, when I ink them, they’ll be multifunctional. We can use them for quick signals—itching when we need to talk, heat when someone’s in danger, apparation guidance. And then in less urgent moments, the words can change. With the coins I made last year, they would heat up when there was a new message, and when we spoke the incantation, the message would be revealed. I’m trying to apply it to the blood magic that comes with tattooed proteans.”

 

“You are  _ such _ a nerd.” Marcus chuckled. “But that’s brilliant.” If someone had told Hermione a year ago that she would be fostering feelings of fondness for  _ Marcus Flint _ , she would have hexed them silly. 

 

“So we’ll shoot for next time you check in?” Grin smiled. Hermione nodded enthusiastically. “Perfect.” She looked back at Lawrence. “Can you  _ please _ go check on Meridian? He’s taking  _ forever. _ ”

 

“In the meantime, I brought the charmed galleons.” Hermione told them, a pleased flush covering her face. “The password is ‘ad victoriam’. You need to place your thumb over the insignia when you say it, and the words on the edge will change.” She instructed, passing them out. 

 

“Brilliant. Thank you.” Grin took hers, turning it over in her hand. “Oh, I don’t know if I mentioned this earlier, but you’re staying for dinner.” She smiled sweetly. 

 

“Oh, I should get back…” 

 

“Oh no.” Grin stopped her before she could give a reason to leave. “You’re part of the family now. You’re staying for dinner. In fact, as often as you possibly can, I’d like you to join us. I know intimacy isn’t a strong suit for you, but it’s not exactly natural for us either. But we’re depending on you, and we want to know you.”

 

Hermione stared at her, somewhat uncomfortable. “Alright then. I’ll stay for dinner.” She smiled shakily. 

 

And as she watched them joke, laugh and care for each other, she wondered what it would be like to call this place home. 


	7. Translations

“Late night?” Harry joked when she slumped into her seat at the Gryffindor table.

 

“Honestly, Hermione, where were you?” Ron complained.

 

“Research.” She grumbled, reaching for the toast. Ginny passed her the sausages, and she smiled gratefully.

 

“You finished that set of translations, right?” Ginny asked, sliding bacon onto her own plate. Hermione nodded. “Is that why you look like you spent the night being dragged through the forest by hippogriffs?” She continued saccharinely. Hermione shot Ginny the most venomous glare she could muster.

 

“Something along those lines, yes.” She growled.

 

“Your super important, top-secret mission?” Ron asked bitterly. Hermione braced herself. “Makes so much sense. Are you going to be spending any time with us this year?”

 

Hermione raised a challenging eyebrow. First of all, he should know better than to piss her off in the morning. Second, she _highly_  doubted that he was actually upset about the loss of quality time. “Which essay did I not write for you that’s putting you in such a shitty mood? I doubt you’d have noticed I was gone unless you needed to use me as your walking talking library.” She snapped. “I was given an assignment, and I already told you I was going to go the extra mile to perform my duties. I _already told you_ that I wasn’t going to bend over backwards to make sure you pass this year. If you want to stay afloat, haul your lazy ass to the library and _get the fuck off my back.”_

 

“Hermione!” Harry exclaimed, shocked.

 

“Don’t you start with me Harry Potter.” She warned.

 

“No, it’s...you _swore!_ ”

 

Hermione paused. “I _do_ swear sometimes, Harry.”

 

“Once every couple of years.” He insisted. “At most.”

 

“Maybe not to your face.” She snorted. “I’m heading to Defense. I need to talk to Professor Snape before class.” She turned on Ron, who was red in the face with anger. “I am not here at your beck and call. Never make that mistake again.” She turned on her heel and left.

* * *

 

She had pitched her Protean Tattoo idea to Snape. He’d been apprehensive at the idea at first, but when he looked into her research proposal, he found himself unwillingly impressed. She may hate the man, but she couldn’t deny that he was a genius. Having his approval was a heady tonic.

 

“Am I allowed to sit here?” She looked up, and Harry was peering down at her. She smiled at him.

 

“Of course. It’s not you I’m mad at.”

 

He dropped onto the workbench. “I think you need to go easy on Ron.” Hermione sighed. “Before you disagree and tell me what a wanker he is, hold on. We did our homework on our own last night. I think he genuinely misses having you around. You’ve been a little out of it for a month now.”

 

She pushed aside the guilt that tickled her gut. “I know I’ve been absent, but my assignment—it’s nothing like what you’re doing with Dumbledore, but people are depending on me. People who are sacrificing a lot for us. I can’t just…” She grasped for the words. “I can’t tell you two about it because you’re both a little bull-headed. Don’t you dare deny it, Harry.” She preemptively scolded him. “You two act first and think later. Not only that, but Ron would actively disapprove. I can’t have him getting in my way with this. You are my first priority, Harry, but they are my second.” She explained.

 

Harry studied her closely. “I can accept that. And I appreciate that I’m your first priority.” He said with a small grin. “But please don’t forget to take care of yourself while you’re taking care of everyone else.” He placed a hand over hers. “And I promise I’ll try to be less bull headed.”

 

She raised her eyebrows in disbelief. “I know a way you can start.” She suggested seriously. He motioned for her to continue. “Leave off Malfoy.” Harry rolled his eyes and went to speak, but she interrupted him. “I’m serious. You have bigger fish to fry. The literal Dark Lord, for example. If he’s getting under your skin that much, give me the map. I’ll keep an eye on him. He’s in the library with Parkinson and Zabini all the fucking time anyways.”

 

Harry’s eyes widened. “What is _with you?_ ” He hissed. “That’s twice in one day!”

 

Hermione cleared her throat. “The people I’m working with for my assignment are a little more...fast and loose with their vocabulary than I am. I might be picking it up from them.” She admitted sheepishly.

 

“Did you know that I intentionally censor myself because I’m afraid of giving you an aneurism?” Harry demanded. Hermione guffawed.

 

“If you are _quite_ ready for me to start my lesson, Miss Granger, I request that you remain silent.” Professor Snape drawled from the front of the room. Hermione went red.

 

“Of course Professor. My apologies.” Hermione blushed. She could hear Pansy giggling to her left. She tracked the sound and settled a sheepish grin on her face. Pansy’s eyes widened and her mouth snapped shut. No matter what ended up happening, Hermione doubted she’d stop being amused by experiencing a speechless Pansy Parkinson.

 

“I’m sorry, did you just smile at Parkinson?” Harry whispered when Snape’s attention returned to the board.

 

“I figured something out the other day. The best way to make them uncomfortable is to be unruffled and friendly.” She grinned wickedly. Harry pursed his lips to hold in his laugh, but his eyes shone with amusement. “Are you going to let me borrow the map?”

 

Harry thought for a long moment, then nodded slowly, pulling the map from inside his robes and sliding it into Hermione’s pocket. She gave him a quick, reassuring smile before refocusing her attention on the lesson.

 

From her left, from behind her, and from her right, Pansy, Draco and Blaise were all watching her. She had become an unknown variable, and that just wouldn’t do. Pansy met Blaise’s eyes. They were going to solve her.

* * *

 

Hermione was in the library again, pretending that she didn’t notice Pansy and Blaise studying her from the desk over. It had been a trying couple of weeks. Harry was undeniably outperforming her in Potions because of that _book_ , and Dumbledore was giving them information on how Voldemort had come to be. She didn’t have much time to spend with the boys, because Harry had made Quidditch Captain and in a bout of unethical downfall, she’d confunded Cormac McLaggen during tryouts and Ron had made keeper. Between her own rather large extracurricular projects and Quidditch, they were almost never in the same place at the same time.

 

She was working on the next set of translations, a set of potions ingredients. From what she’d translated so far, there were two potions that needed to be brewed within an hour of the ritual. That was coupled with complex spellwork, offerings and incantation at a specific location. She had a feeling that Grin was playing the location and incantations close to the vest, and offloading the rest of the work to her.

 

There were a lot of ingredients related to death and souls—particularly where the bridge between life and death intersect. So far, she’d translated diluted Thestral blood, crushed, cured mistletoe, and frozen Ashwinder egg. She was working on the next one now in a list of about thirty. She’d seen it somewhere before, but couldn’t for her life remember where. She let out a tired groan of frustration, dropping her head on the desk with a loud thunk.

 

It seemed to knock a mental barricade loose. Blaise was in her Ancient Runes class, and he was second to her in scores. She glanced over at him, and her eyes went wide when she found him gazing back. He was talking to Pansy intermittently, but they both flicked their eyes over to her regularly. They were talking about her. She scribbled out the set of runes she was stuck on and stood, striding over to their table. Both of their eyes widened, and they sat as far back as they could, as though trying to escape her while sitting.

 

“Zabini.”

 

“Granger.” He greeted hesitantly.

 

“I was hoping you could help me with something.”

 

His eyebrows shot up. “What’s in it for me?”

 

Hermione considered him for a long moment. “Within reason, you can pick.” She told him confidently.

 

Pansy’s eyes widened comically and Blaise grinned. “Alright, Granger. What can I do for you?”

 

She handed him the scrap of parchment. “I need help translating this. I know I’ve seen it before, but I can’t place it, and it’s driving me nuts.” She said somewhat miserably. He looked over it, and frowned deeply.

 

“I’ve seen it before, too.” He admitted. “Recently. I think I did a practice translation over the summer that included this.” He muttered, reaching into his bag to rummage around. “It was a pretty dark translation, too. From the Malfoy family library.” A spark went up Hermione’s spine. Blaise barely noticed, but Pansy was shooting him the nastiest glare. He was _admitting to dark arts material in the Malfoy home_.

 

Triumphantly, he pulled out a beaten up notebook. Hermione couldn’t help the smile that slid onto her face. They were far more alike than either of them would ever admit. Knowledge was knowledge, no matter its roots.

 

He thumbed through the notebook haphazardly until he found the page he was looking for. He let out a little “Ha!” of success when he found what he was looking for. “Acromantula Venom.” He grinned.

 

The smile dropped off Hermione’s face, and unwittingly Blaise’s face ricocheted from pride to concern. “Does that mean something Granger?” Pansy asked impatiently. Hermione said nothing, mind sprinting through everything she’d translated so far. “Granger!” Pansy barked.

 

Hermione jerked violently. “Yeah, sorry. It means something.” She told them distractedly. “Something _fucking insane_. Thanks for your help, Zabini.” She made to leave, but Blaise stopped her.

 

“Acromantula venom is a really dangerous component in a lot of incredibly dark potions.” He warned her. “If you’re using that for something, whatever you’re involved in…” He cleared his throat. “It’s dangerous.”

 

She studied him. If she didn’t know any better, she’d think he was _concerned_ for her. “I’ll be fine. It’s not for me.” She told him gently. “Thanks, really. Let me know what I can do in return.”

 

“Actually, I already know what you can do.” Blaise said sheepishly. Hermione considered for a moment that they might have walked into a parallel universe. She was having a relatively tame and normal conversation with two Slytherins, and they were helping her. Being cordial.

 

“Shoot.”

 

“You can get Potter to lay off Draco.” He said insistently. Hermione bit her lip. “He’s going through enough, having to shake off Potter at every turn is driving him barmy.”

 

“I already have.” She admitted. “He agreed to stop pestering Malfoy this morning. He can get a bit obsessive when he gets an idea in his head.” She paused, unsure of how to continue. “But for the record, if he’s involved in something that he can’t handle or will end up harming someone, there’s nothing Harry won’t do.”

 

Blaise nodded curtly, getting the message loud and clear. “Then the translation’s free.”

 

Hermione smiled tightly, and turned to go. She needed to talk to Grin immediately.


	8. Discovery

Hermione raced from the library, nearly sprinting through the halls towards the grounds. “Hermione!” Someone called from behind her. She skidded to a halt, turning so fast she almost fell over.

 

“What?” She snapped when Ron came running forward. 

 

“Where are you going? Why are you running?”

 

“I can’t tell you either of those things.”

 

“Well, are you alright?” Genuine concern shone through on his face. She sighed.

 

“I’m fine Ron.” She promised. “I just realized something important and to take care of something. I’ll be back by dinner.”

 

He eyed her dubiously. “Alright. Be careful, yeah?”   
  


“Of course.” She smiled. “Look who you’re talking to.”

 

He grinned. As soon as he looked willing to let her leave, Hermione darted away. 

 

As soon as she was outside of the castle, she pulled her portkey from her bag and vanished. It dumped her out in the living room of the Pit, which was empty. “Grin!” She hollered, darting through the kitchen and dining room before shooting up the stairs. “Grin, where are you?”

 

She burst into every room (startling a very disgruntled Amalia who was wrapped around an embarrassed Theomer Rowle) and finally ended up in the modest library. It was more of a study really, shelves lining the walls with a large table in the middle to spread out and take notes. Grin was asleep at said table, as was Rhiannon. 

 

“Grin!” Hermione hollered ruthlessly. Grin jolted awake drawing her wand with lightning speed. “So first of all, I’m giving you people alarm wards.” She drawled. 

 

“Hermione?” She asked blearily, yawning widely. “What are you doing here?”

 

“I’ve managed to translate four of the ingredients.” She said casually. “Do you know what I found?”

 

“What?” She replied with a yawn. 

 

“Thestral Blood, Ashwinder Egg, Mistletoe, and Acromantula Venom.” Hermione continued. This time her tone was lower, and just a touch more angry. “That, coupled with the wand movements I translated and the notes you showed me that indicated a location-specific ritual led me to a singular conclusion.”

 

“Hermione,...”

 

“Who are you trying to bring back from the dead?” She demanded. Grin had gone pale, and Rhiannon, who had woken up with Hermione’s shout, gasped. “It’s Sirius, isn’t it?”

 

Swallowing thickly, Grin nodded. “But hear me out…”

 

“Do you know how  _ dangerous _ to mess with the laws of magic like this?” Hermione hissed.

 

“But I’m not!” Grin cried. “Sirius isn’t dead! He wasn’t hit with a killing curse, he was stunned. He’s stunned, and in a sort of limbo—suspended animation, I think muggles call it.” Her eyes were wild and desperate. “It’s not necromancy, I swear.”

 

“Does Dumbledore know what you’re trying to do?” 

 

“He does! I requested the resources from him! He told me I could look into it. That’s why I said there wasn’t a guarantee! He said if the ritual required sacrificial magic, I couldn’t follow through.” 

 

Hermione glared at the older girl frostily while she reasoned through that logic. Sacrificial magic was some of the darkest magic available. It was, essentially, murder for personal gain. “But he’s fine with blood magic? Blood magic bonds are incredibly volatile.”

 

“He said if one of us was willing to carry out the bond, and as long as we knew the nature of the bond, blood magic was a worthy price to pay for Sirius’ life.” Grin insisted. “Hermione, please. He’s your best friend’s godfather, and your friend. He’s our mentor.” She exhaled, preparing herself. “He’s my cousin.”

 

Hermione’s jaw dropped. 

 

“Okay. So that cat’s out of the bag with that one.” Rhiannon laughed nervously. 

 

“Your cousin?”

 

“I mean technically, aren’t we all cousins?” Rhiannon tried futilely to dispel the tension that had accumulated in the room. 

 

“Shut up, Rhiannon.” Hermione snapped. “How close?” She demanded. 

 

Grin cleared her throat uncomfortably. “Second cousins.” She admitted. Hermione stared, dumbstruck. “I wasn’t blasted off the family tree because Walburga was dead before I ‘defected’.” She explained. 

 

“I’m not going to ask you who you are.” Hermione said after a long moment collecting herself. “But did you honestly think I wouldn’t find out what you were doing?”

 

Grin looked miserable. “Of course I thought you’d find out. I just thought I’d have a little more time.” She moaned. “And it has nothing to do with my personal feelings on the matter. If it did, I’d be trying to bring back so many more people.” At Hermione’s growing ire, she backpedaled. “Okay, so it’s a little bit personal, but I wouldn’t be doing this if Sirius were actually dead. But he’s not! And we need him. He’s brilliant, and one of our best fighters.”

 

Despite her fury, Hermione couldn’t deny that was true. “Fine. But  _ please _ stop trying to keep me out of things. Especially things this...explosive.” 

 

Grin nodded vigorously. “Agreed.”

 

“I need to get back to school.” She sighed. “I’ll check in again at the end of the week.” 

 

“Travel safe!” Rhiannon called as she strode away. 

 

“Are you done yelling?” Amalia snapped. She was trussed up in a silky black robe. 

 

“Are you all done keeping shit from me?” Hermione snapped back. 

 

Amalia looked her over. “Probably.”

 

“I’ll walk you out.” Theomer said quickly. Hermione shot him a questioning glance, but compliantly followed him out of the house. “I know I don’t say much. I try to save my words for when they’re useful.”

 

Hermione nodded, confused. Was there a point to that statement?

 

“We’re not used to trusting people. We aren’t even used to telling our closest friends how we feel. And we’re certainly not used to having a balls-to-the-wall Gryffindor, who also happens to be a genius, in our lives.” He said quietly. “We’ll let you in. Just be patient. Being in the fold means something different here.” 

 

Hermione flushed. “I didn’t realize…”

 

“And I certainly didn’t expect you to.” He said kindly. “I’m just giving you the information you need to make this work. Because we like you. We just aren’t used to you.” He winked. “Have a good night.”

 

He left her on the doorstep with a smile.

* * *

 

Hermione couldn’t talk about it. It gripped at her heart. The prospect of seeing Sirius alive and laughing again was exhilarating, and yet the prospect of failure was terrifying and heartbreaking. She hadn’t even gotten to say goodbye. Dolohov had knocked her out with that terrible curse. She rubbed a hand over the scar. It still hurt sometimes. When she woke up, Sirius was gone, the Ministry had admitted Voldemort’s return, and Harry had lost more family. 

 

She could barely meet Harry’s eyes.

 

“What’s going on with you?” Ginny demanded. They were in the common room, and for once, they were alone. That never lasted long, though.

 

“Just a...revelation. It’s causing some anxiety.” Hermione told her quietly. She was spreading her books out across the desk. 

 

“Can you tell me about it?”

 

Hermione shook her head. “Trust me, you don’t want to know.” She muttered. “This translation I’m working on—if it works, something so fantastic will happen...but there’s a really high risk of failure, and it’s incredibly dangerous.” 

 

Ginny frowned, clearly concerned. “You said it was a ritual, right?” Hermione nodded. “You’re not going to be actually performing it, are you?” She shook her head. “I read that muggle book you brought to the Burrow last summer. Microeconomics?” 

 

Hermione squinted at her friend. “There are some pretty serious mental conditions that list inability to maintain a singular topic of conversation as a symptom.”

 

“Oh shut up. There was a chapter in that book that you might find relevant. Cost-Benefit analysis?”

 

Hermione’s heart melted. “Are you honestly appealing to my nerdiness to help me with a problem? That’s the  _ sweetest thing…” _ Ginny reared back in disgust. 

 

“NEVER let anyone hear you call me sweet.” Ginny huffed. “I have a reputation, you know.” She stood hastily. “I’m going to meet with Dean. He’s helping me with Transfiguration.” She winked saucily and sashayed from the room. Hermione couldn’t help the girlish giggle. Nobody could say that Ginny wasn’t one-of-a-kind. 

 

She lost herself in her work, beginning with an essay for Potions detailing the uses of myrrh in its various forms, bleeding into an essay detailing the laws of transfiguration, and finally resettling into her translations of the potions ingredients. She had cast her noise dampening charm, and was completely entrenched in her work, so when she looked up to find Harry and Ron staring at her, she expelled a scream and kicked back from the table, and toppled from her chair. When she cancelled the charm, she was met with raucous laughter.

 

“What are you  _ doing _ sneaking up on me like that!” She cried, rubbing her sore backside as she stood.

 

“We’ve been sitting with you for half an hour, Hermione.” Harry told her through bursts of belly-laughter. Hermione’s heart somersaulted. She couldn’t remember the last time she heard Harry laugh like that. Everything was so urgent and serious now. Lightheartedness seemed to be far flung. 

 

“I didn’t hear you.” She said sheepishly, gingerly settling back into her seat. 

 

“I told you that charm was a bad idea. You do well enough tuning us out without an actual sound barrier.” Ron grinned. “But hey, it’s fun to be able to surprise you.”

 

“Well was there a reason you interrupted me? Or was it just for your amusement?” She grinned. 

 

“We were hoping you’d come with us to Hogsmeade tomorrow. It’s been a while. It might be nice to just...hang out.” Harry smiled. Hermione’s face lit up. 

 

“That sounds great! I need a break, anyways.” The smiles fell from their faces, and her eyes widened in concern. “What?”

 

Harry reached over and placed a hand on her forehead. “Are you feeling okay? You said you wanted to stop working, are you ill?”

 

“It must be fatal.” Ron nodded solemnly. Hermione swatted Harry’s hand away. 

 

“Bugger off!” 


	9. Vigilance

The morning of their Hogsmeade visit, Hermione got a letter from Grin. She shared a quick glance with Ginny, who immediately set about distracting the boys while she read. 

 

**_Hermione,_ **

 

**_I’m sorry I didn’t tell you what we were trying to accomplish with your amazing work. I know it’s heavy, and I can’t tell you how grateful I am that you’re sticking with it anyways. I’m going to tell you everything._ **

 

**_When I was in school and trying to figure out how to handle my sudden split from blood purity, I remembered the horror stories that my mother told me about my cousin Sirius. He was in prison at the time, but with father’s connections I managed to get him a letter, asking about his experience and how he thought I should handle it. He wrote me back and told me that he’d seen me once from afar in Diagon Alley, and that he’d always hoped that my generation would be more open to seeing the world for what it is. He told me that it would be hard to make the split from our family, but that I’d ultimately be satisfied in a piece of my soul that my family would never even feel._ **

 

**_He was the only family I had for the longest time. I want him back. When you check in at the end of the week, I’ll show you how I know he isn’t dead._ **

 

**_I promise I’ll be more forthcoming. I really just didn’t want to get your hopes up prematurely. I didn’t even want to get mine up._ **

 

**_Apologetically yours,_ **

 

**_P.M._ **

Hermione shoved the note into her bag, and continued to nibble on her toast. She knew they were going to the Three Broomsticks for lunch, but she hoped she could convince them to go by Dervish and Banges. They always had something new and useful hidden among their shelves. 

The trip turned out to be pleasant, but mundane. She did manage to slip into Dervish and Banges while Harry and Ron patronized Zonko’s, and then they had lunch and drinks at the Three Broomsticks per usual. Of course, this was the moment that Harry discovered that Ginny and Dean were dating. He didn’t take it all that well. 

“If I had known you were interested, I certainly wouldn’t have encouraged it.” She’d shrugged. Now, it seemed that Harry was fighting the instinct to be cross with her, even though he’d insisted that he wasn’t interested. She suspected he’d said that for Ron’s benefit. Ron, for the record, was fuming. 

“She’s too young to be dating!”

“She’s a year younger than us, Ron.” Hermione rolled her eyes.

“That’s a year too young! That’s my baby sister!” He exclaimed hotly. They were walking back to the carriages, following behind Katie Bell and Leanne who were bickering over something. 

“I think you’ll find that the more you get on her case, the more she’ll do things just to irritate you.” Hermione warned. Ron made to retort, but was cut off by a brutal scream. 

Katie Bell had was floating gracefully in the air, six feet from the ground. The scream had come from Leanne. Then, Katie’s face contorted in anguish and she unleashed a bloodcurdling scream of her own. Leanne was attempting to pull her down, and Hermione and Ron rushed to help her. “I’m going to find a professor!” Harry yelled, sprinting away from the group. 

“What happened?” Hermione yelled, wrapping a hand around Katie’s ankle, attempting to pull her down. 

“That package! She had it with her when she came out of the bathroom. I told her not to touch it!” Leanne sobbed. 

They managed to get her out of the air just as Harry came back with Hagrid. “Grab tha’ package.  _ Only touch the wrappins’.”  _ Hagrid growled, picking Katie up. Hermione complied carefully, shedding her scarf to supply an extra layer of distance. 

When they finally made it to the hospital wing, Professors Dumbledore, McGonagall and Snape were waiting for them. Harry recounted what happened (Leanne was too busy panic-crying), and Hermione handed the scarf-wrapped package to Dumbledore. 

“Severus.” He handed the package to Snape, who levitated its contents out of the wrappings. It was an opal collar necklace, and it was stunning. Hermione had also seen it before.

“I saw that at Borgin and Burke’s!” She exclaimed. Three professorial sets of eyes turned to her with raised eyebrows. “Ah...erm…” She cleared her throat uncomfortably. “I got turned around, and went in to ask for directions back to Diagon Alley.” She lied. She could hardly tell them that she’d followed a juvenile hunch of Harry’s by following Draco Malfoy into the most dangerous shopping district in Wizarding England.”

“Naturally.” Snape drawled sarcastically. “It is a very dark piece of magic indeed.” He murmured, running a diagnostic spell over it. “Had Miss Bell made any further contact with it, it certainly would have killed her.”

“She needs to go to Saint Mungo’s, Albus.” McGonagall whispered. 

“The four of you may go back to your dormitories.” He told them distractedly. 

“Um, professor?” Harry piped up before his mentor walked away. “I think Draco Malfoy gave Katie the necklace.” 

Snape went rigid and McGonagall spluttered. “That is a very serious accusation, Potter. It is also  _ impossible. _ ” She insisted somewhat shrilly. 

“But professor…” Hermione kicked him, glaring furiously. He had  _ promised. _

“Mr. Malfoy was in detention with me.” McGonagall snapped. “Be careful not to make baseless accusations without proof.” She and Professor Snape strode from the hospital wing. Professor Dumbledore offered him a glance that could almost be interpreted as sympathy. 

“I’ll look into who gave Miss Bell the necklace, Harry. But Draco Malfoy was in detention today for falling into academic probation.” Dumbledore informed him tiredly. “You have greater priorities, my boy.” 

When Dumbledore was gone, Hermione whirled on Harry, hair practically sparking with fury. “Harry, you  _ promised _ . You promised you would leave the paranoia about Malfoy behind and let me handle it!” She snapped. “Keep in mind, Harry, that if Malfoy us up to something, Snape probably already knows. If you keep handling this by yelling out loud about it, Malfoy’s going to be more careful and secretive if he  _ is _ up to something!” She was tempted to hit him. He opened his mouth, presumably to appease her. “Don’t.” She snarled before storming from the hospital wing. 

She stormed her way to the library, fairly terrifying the younger students who were lingering in the hall. And then she ran straight into something, and they both crashed to the ground. 

“For fuck’s sake.” Blaise Zabini’s irate voice sounded from beneath her. “Watch where you’re going, Granger.”

“You first, Zabini.” She groaned, picking herself up gingerly. “Sorry, though.” She muttered reluctantly. 

“Yeah, whatever.” Zabini made to continue on his way, but she grabbed him on the arm. “What?”

“I’m going to ask you something, and it’s going to be blunt. Please be honest with me.” Zabini raised his eyebrows expectantly. “Did Malfoy buy an opal necklace from Borgin and Burke’s?”

Zabini scoffed. “What on earth makes you think I have the time or energy to keep track of Draco’s purchases? And even if I did,” He stepped forward intimidatingly. Hermione proudly stood her ground. “What makes you think it’s any of your business?”

“Look, if he did, he should know that Katie Bell is being taken to Saint Mungo’s. I know he was in detention today, but he’s smart.” She admitted somewhat sourly. “He could have figured out a way to get it to her. If he’s in over his head,” She paused, staring him directly in the eye. “If any of you are in over your heads, you can talk to me. And I won’t say a word unless you ask me to. I’ll even take a vow. But we’re teenagers. We shouldn’t have to fight in wars. I know there’s more pressure on Slytherins, and even though some of you are complete toerags, I don’t want you to go to Azkaban for something that wasn’t your choice.” She was whispering, but as she spoke, his eyes widened as though she was hollering. He yanked his arm out of her grip and sped away down the hall. 

She wasn’t studying. She wasn’t translating. Her forehead was planted firmly on the desk as she mulled over the stupidity of her own actions. Ginny had come and gone, and was operating with completely updated information. Minus Grin’s connection to Sirius, of course. 

_ What _ had possessed her to warn Blaise? What if Malfoy  _ had _ given Katie the necklace? Blaise probably thought she was off her rocker. She banged her head hard on the desk and revelled in the flourish of pain that went radiating through her skull. She deserved it. 

Two chair scraped out across the table from her, and she looked up. Pansy and Blaise. She grimaced. “Hello.”

“What the hell is going on with you. I don’t like you, Granger, but you’ve been acting like a complete headcase since the beginning of the year, and I have too much bullshit in my life already to include another unknown variable.” Pansy snapped. “What gives?”

“What do you mean?” She asked innocently. She exhaled tiredly when Blaise gave a scoff of utter disbelief and incredulity. “How do you know that I’m not just a unilaterally caring and gentle person?” 

“You’re kidding right?” Blaise snorted. 

“Alright, look. Harry is itching to get Draco in trouble. He thinks he’s up to something bad, and even though he handed the reigns to me, he’s still chomping at the bit. He’s far less willing to see your good sides than I am. For example, Blaise, you’re brilliant. You and Draco are neck and neck for second in our class behind me. You’re also fairly kind. A little prejudiced, but you don’t cower from bullies and you’re fiercely protective of your friends. Pansy, you’re smarter than you let on. You play dumb so that people will underestimate you. You’re also fiercely loyal, it just presents differently than it does for Gryffindors. You both behave like cretins to the general populace because if you don’t your families would turn their backs on you. Draco’s fear of his father is unparalleled, just as his love for his mother.” She sighed. “Unlike us, who can freely choose who we’re associated with as long as we can justify it, you have real and terrifying consequences for differing opinions. I learned that from Sirius Black. Even if no one else is here for you, I’ve promised myself and now you that I will be.”

They both stared at her, flabbergasted. Pansy collected herself first. “Did you practice that speech?” She chuckled with disbelief. “You’re certifiable. Why on earth would we want your help?”

“You might not. I’m still offering it.” Hermione shrugged. “Everyone deserves to have someone in their corner.”

“Do you even know the definition of subtlety?” Blaise spluttered.

“Yeah, normally I do. Today’s an off day. Harry pissed me off right before I ran into you. I’m not exactly known for my level head.” Hermione smiled grimly. “I’m trying to work on that.”

“Maybe we actually believe our parents.” Pansy smirked. It was a cold look, one that marred her otherwise pleasing features. It’s what turned her from ‘Princess Parkinson’ to ‘Pug-nose Parkinson’. “Maybe I’d like nothing more than to see you erased from the face of the earth.”

Hermione shrugged again. “That’s fair. We hardly like each other, and you were raised to believe that I’m little more than dirt. But I think that when you actually use that head of yours, you find inconsistencies in your family’s reasoning.” She smirked, too. “It’s why you’re sitting here discussing this with me instead of outright telling me to piss off.”

Pansy opened her mouth to retaliate, but stopped short. She had nothing to say. Blaise stepped in for her. “So what exactly are you proposing?” 

Hermione took a deep breath. “Options.” She stated slowly. “If you just need someone to talk to, or to ask advice from, you can be assured that I’ll keep it to myself and give you the best advice I can with the knowledge I can. If you want to consider an alternative to Lord Voldemort—” Pansy and Blaise both flinched. “I have an option for you that I honestly think you’ll like.” She sighed, then. “I know you’re used to people pushing you aside just because of your family or house affiliations. I’m not going to do that.”

Blaise and Pansy shared a look. “Give us some time to think about it?” Pansy asked quietly. For the first time in her life, Hermione saw something akin to vulnerability in her eyes. Hermione nodded. 

“In the meantime, would you like to study with me? We have that Arithmancy set due on Tuesday…” Hermione trailed off, afraid of taking a mile when they’d given an inch.

“I actually promised Goyle I’d help him with his Transfiguration essay.” Pansy told her. She cleared her throat, clearly uncomfortable with civility. “But thanks for the offer.”

“He can join us, if you’d like.” Hermione offered.

Pansy blanched. “He’s not original enough to grasp the complexities behind a ceasefire.” Pansy said apologetically. 

“Next time, then.” She turned to Blaise.

“I’ll stick around. The number chart she assigned for this question set has me stumped.” He admitted. Hermione supposed that had he been born into a different family, Blaise would have been a Ravenclaw. 

They studied in relative silence for almost an hour. Hermione felt oddly at peace. She was succeeding, mostly by accident. That never happened. Every now and then, she would check her work against his, and he would ask her a question about a numerical chart. Before she’d realized it, they’d moved on to Potions (an essay about the uses of Gillyweed), then Transfiguration. She was so entrenched in her work, she didn’t even look at the clock. 

“What the hell are you doing with him?” A disgusted voice jolted her from her studying. Ron was standing over them, sneering at Blaise as though he were a cockroach. 

“Studying.” Hermione sighed. “Is there something wrong with that?”

He goggled at her. “Why are you studying with  _ him?” _ He asked incredulously. Hermione deliberately plastered on a confused, innocent frown. 

“He’s in my arithmancy class. I needed help interpreting the tables and he was already here.” She said slowly, as though explaining to a toddler. His ears had gone red, and it was slowly creeping to his face. 

“He’s a Slytherin, Hermione.” Ron had a mulish look on his face, and Hermione could already tell that this was going to turn out badly. “And he’s friends with Malfoy. You know, the one who calls you a Mudblood all fucking day and has threatened your life more than once? This place is completely empty, are you stupid or something?”

Hermione’s eyes narrowed to slits. Blaise’s eyes were volleying between them like he was watching a tennis match. “What do you mean, Ronald?” She asked calmly. Blaise was certain he’d never seen a teacup tempest, but there was a storm brewing and he was fairly itching to find shelter. 

“Maybe I should just…” 

“No.” Her fierce eyes snapped to him. “We were studying, and quite frankly, I’d like to finish up with the most productive study partner I’ve ever had. Now, Ronald, tell me what you meant.”

“You’re alone in here.  _ With him. _ ” He snarled, gesturing to Blaise as though he were a throwaway. “He was probably waiting to get you alone so he could attack you. He’s probably a Death Eater!”

On a macro level, Blaise thought that was a fairly reasonable point. He did, technically, harbor blood prejudices and normally wouldn’t hesitate to sabotage Granger. He might not have attacked her, just because she was almost certainly a better duelist than him, but he certainly would have done something petty, like bewitch her homework. Hermione, however, wasn’t having it. 

“So because he’s in Slytherin, he’s probably a Death Eater?” Hermione asked, mocking a thoughtful gaze. She was seething.

“Oh come off it, of course! He’s called you a mudblood  _ to your face _ .”

“Blaise,” She turned to him suddenly. “Would you do me the courtesy of showing me your left arm?”

Exuding uncertainty, Blaise rolled up his sleeve and displayed his unblemished forearm. “Just because he doesn’t have it now, doesn’t mean he doesn’t want it!” Ron shouted. “You’re being naive!”

“You’re being an arse. Tell me Ronald, what if  _ you _ were in Slytherin, and people booed you when you were sorted? Told you you were a bad seed and that you’d likely become a Death Eater. How would you behave towards those people? What would you  _ naturally do _ when you graduated?” She demanded furiously. Blaise’s eyes widened, turning to his questionable study companion. “I’m not willing to assume people are unflinching murderers just because of the house they were placed in, and I’m certainly not willing to let you dictate who I study with.” Now completely red and about to boil over, Ron opened his mouth to retaliate. Hermione silenced him with a flick of her wand. “This is a library. If you want to holler, go fuck yourself on the Quidditch pitch.” She growled. Blaise’s jaw dropped. Ron stormed away, and Blaise just stared at her. “Did you find the source material for the exceptions to Gamp’s Law?” She asked calmly once Ron was definitively out of the library.

Blaise went to question her about her stalwart defense of his character, but seemed to think better of it, filing the information away for later. “Yeah, here.” He pushed his book towards her. She hummed. He wasn’t sure how she had calmed down so thoroughly, so quickly, but one thing was clear: There was more to Hermione Granger than met the eye. 


	10. Belonging

This time, when Hermione portkeyed to the Pit, it landed her on the front door. She had specifically requested that. Her magic would never be able to identify the front porch if she kept on appearing in the bloody living room. She’d end up apparating into a wall once she got her licence. She traced her wand over the door just as Dumbledore had. When the rune in the door glowed, she felt something shift within her, like something snapped into place. She stood still in the doorway as she revelled in the feeling.

 

Marcus appeared at the door, confused as to why it stood ajar. “Oh! Hey, Hermione.” She looked up at him, slightly dazed. “Are you alright?” He asked, concerned.

 

“That feeling–what was it?” She breathed. It was thrilling, yet calming.

 

Marcus smiled widely. “Was that the first time you traced the rune?” He asked excitedly. She nodded dumbly. “That was the Pit, welcoming you home.” He pulled her inside. “Time to celebrate!”

 

“Welcoming me home?” She murmured, staring at the back of Marcus’ head as he dragged her through the house, and up the stairs. It was like he was looking for something as he bustled through each hall. Then, he stopped, grinning like a madman.

 

“There it is!” He hooted, gesturing to a closed door.

 

She frowned, confused. “There what is?”

 

He pushed the door open. “Your room.” He breathed excitedly. Hermione’s eyes went wide, and she crept inside. It was blank—the bare bones of a room. It had a large window that overlooked the forest, and a single four-poster bed.

 

“My room?”

 

“When the house recognizes a member, it creates a room for them.” He told her. She turned to him, wide eyed. “It knows that you’re one of us. Dumbledore enchanted the house himself. Whenever a new one of us joined, a room appeared for us.” He was grinning at her. “Welcome aboard, Granger.” He pulled out his wand and tapped it against the little brass plate on the door. Her name bled from his wand, entrenching itself in the cool metal. Then, he smirked. “Your middle name is _Jean_?” He chuckled.

 

“What’s wrong with Jean?” She huffed.

 

“It’s just so...ordinary. Nothing else about you is ordinary.” He laughed. She blushed.

 

“It’s humble.” She muttered defensively, turning back to _her_ room. “How do I furnish this?” She muttered, clearly troubled.

 

Marcus frowned. “What do you mean?” How complicated could furnishing a room be?

 

“This room is _huge!”_ She said somewhat shrilly. Marcus looked around, examining the room.

 

“It’s not that big.” Marcus frowned. Hermione turned on him, face stretched in disbelief. “I mean, they’re smaller than what I’m used to, in terms of personal rooms.” Her jaw dropped further.

 

“How big was your room growing up?”

 

“Er…” He glanced around the room again. “About twice as big. Maybe a little more.”

 

“What did you even _do_ with that much space?” She demanded incredulously. He shrugged.

 

“Had friends over. Practiced wandwork with Cal. Practiced ballroom dancing with Cal.” He frowned. “I spent a lot of time with Cal.” He realized suddenly. “And yet, that tosser never helped me keep my grades up in school.” He leaned out the door. “Oi! Cal!”

 

Calendula strolled into the room a moment later. “What?”

 

“Why the hell didn’t you help me not suck in school?” He demanded sourly.

 

“Can’t fight stupidity, little brother.” She smirked. “Nice room.” She looked around. “Welcome to the Pit, Hermione.”

 

“Thanks, Calendula.” Hermione smiled politely. She still hadn’t quite gotten a read on the older Flint. She was kind, but quiet and calculating. Her brother was more open with everything, from friendship to blatant animosity.

 

“If you want, we have a mail order decorating catalog. Just send money with Coolio and it’ll show up in the house.” Calendula informed her. Hermione nearly choked on her laugh.

 

“Coolio?” She cackled.

 

“Our owl. Grin took a gander into muggle London a few years back and came back with an owl named Coolio.” She rolled her eyes. “Apparently, it’s a muggle phrase that means ‘cool’. Why they wouldn’t just _say ‘cool_ ’ is beyond me.”

 

“I’d love to take a look at the catalog.” Hermione said gratefully after she’d calmed down. “But, I actually came here for Grin.”

 

The Flint siblings shared a look. “We heard about your disagreement.”

 

She cleared her throat uncomfortably. “I don’t like being manipulated. And I felt manipulated.” She told them clearly.

 

“That’s not what she was trying to do.” Calendula insisted.

 

“I know that now. But I think openness is going to be best from here on out. I really don’t like surprises. Especially surprises like this.”

 

“I still don’t really know what the surprise is.” Marcus admitted. Hermione raised her eyebrows.

 

“So nobody knew?”

 

They shook their heads. “Grin’s been keeping this one under her hat outside of the research team.” Marcus told her. Hermione let that revelation wash over her.

 

“Oh.” She felt like an utter ass. “Well now I really need to find her. Mostly to apologize.” She grimaced. She showed herself out of her room, and Marcus led her up one more floor to Grin’s room. She knocked timidly. “Grin?” Marcus took his leave, giving her an awkward thumbs-up. A long moment later, Grin opened up the door just a crack, peeking her head around the corner. She was in a long t-shirt. Hermione raised her eyebrows, stepping back a fraction. “Did I interrupt something? I’m so sorry.”

 

Grin shook her head hurriedly. “No, no. We’re done.” She swung the door open wider. “They’re just sleeping.”

 

Hermione’s eyes widened dramatically. “ _They_? As in more than one?” She peered around Grin to see Anwar sprawled out on one side of the bed, and Joshua Selwyn on the other. “Are you polyamorous?”

 

Grin blushed. “You get straight to the point, don’t you?” She chuckled awkwardly. “I might be. I’m not sure. I’ve got some siren blood in me, and it might be enough to require a mate-connection, and sirens are known to form multiple mate connections for species integrity.” Of course, Hermione already knew that, but her eyes shone with fascination anyways. Grin stepped into the hallway and closed the door. “In any case, we have a standing arrangement around here. It’s a high stress environment without a lot of time for romance, but we all have needs. We take care of each other. In whatever way that means.” She shrugged. Hermione blushed hotly. Now that she had a room, was she included in that arrangement? Grin _giggled_. “It’s not a requirement of being a Pit member, Hermione.”

 

“Good.” She squeaked. “That’s good.”

 

“But, I highly encourage you to take advantage of _all_ that this house has to offer.” She winked.

 

“Oookay. I definitely didn’t come here to talk about this.”

 

“How I know Sirius isn’t dead?” Grin asked, glowing with amusement. Hermione nodded, trying desperately to dispel her blush. “Don’t freak out.” Grin warned, before pulling her shirt off.

 

Underneath her shirt, Grin’s sides, chest, and hips were littered with tattoos. Right over her heart, there was a thick, black dragon. On the right side of her ribcage, there was a dark tattoo of a sitting dog. It looked blurry, but it was still stark against her caramel skin. There were other tattoos—some dark, some faded, some gray and barely visible. A collection of runic tattoos. They were all beautiful. Grin pointed to one of the faded ones. “Something I did when I first got disowned. I got tattoos for every person I hold most dear, and I charmed them. If they’re in immediate danger, they get warm. If they’re injured, they turn blue. If they die, they turn gray.”

 

Then, she pointed at the tattoo of the black dog. “I got this one for Sirius. When I finally got to know him, you know?” She stroked it, and Hermione watched in awe as it stood and stretched under her caress. “Professor Dumbledore came to tell us what had happened almost immediately after it happened. I ran from the room, panicking. It had been warm earlier, you know? So I knew he was in danger. I needed to see it for myself. But it was still black. But instead of being completely faded out, it was fuzzy around the edges. That’s when I started to understand what had happened to him.” She explained.

 

Hermione bent, and glanced up at Grin. “May I?” She asked, gesturing to the tattoo. Grin nodded. She ran her fingers over the tattoo. It was raised, slightly inflamed. “This is an amazing piece of magic.” She complimented the older girl absentmindedly. The dog preened under her affection.

 

“I needed to know.” Grin said softly. “I had no way to look out for them. This gave me a way.”

 

“How did you get it to respond to their magics specifically?” Hermione asked curiously.

 

“Blood.” Hermione’s eyes shot up. “I know. Blood magic tends on the darker shade of grey. But hey, I come from a dark family. I figured, if I was using it for light reasons, it would cancel out.” Hermione seemed to accept that logic, because she went back to her thorough study of Grin’s tattoos.

 

“Uh…” Grin and Hermione turned to face the newcomer. Lawrence was watching them with a dazed look on his face. Hermione flushed hotly, jumping back from Grin as though she’d been burned. It hadn’t really clicked, but Grin was standing naked in the hallway, and Hermione was running her hands all over her. “Hello…”

 

“Lawrence! Hi! I was just...Grin was explaining…”

 

“There is absolutely no need to explain the hottest thing I’ve seen in my life. Do _not_ take this away from me.” Lawrence demanded. Grin was grinning, and Hermione was tomato red. “Whenever you want to show that to me again, you let me know.” He pointed at them, driving the point home, before trotting off to his room with a spring in his step.

 

“Sorry about that. Modesty gets abandoned here.” Grin shrugged her shirt back on, but Hermione waved her off, determinedly deciding to take it in stride.

 

“Forget about it. We’ve got bigger fish to fry.” Hermione set her shoulders. Grin’s eyes held a hopeful glint, and Hermione took extreme satisfaction in the fact that she would be feeding that hope instead of taking it away. “We’re going to get Sirius out of that Veil.”

* * *

 

Back at Hogwarts, Blaise and Pansy had holed up in the common room, and were attempting to work through their options.

 

“It feels too sudden.” Pansy muttered. “All of a sudden, Granger’s decided to be a champion for Slytherins in need? I don’t know about you, but first of all, it feels fishy, and second of all, I’m not a fucking charity case.”

 

“I honestly don’t think she’s trying to turn us into charity cases.” Blaise told her. “I’m not sure why, but she seems to have magically gained some truly terrifying insight into our situation, and she’s doing the uncomfortably Gryffindor thing.” He mockingly puffed out his chest. “No man shall be forced to do ill against his will.”

 

“What insight?”

 

“She went off about how we were booed during our sorting and villainized by the school, pressured by our parents, etcetera, etcetera.”

 

“Went of at who?” Pansy demanded. “I need details, Blaise.”

 

“Weasley.” He hissed. “Gave him a complete dressing down when he started telling her that I was no good. Then she _silenced_ him and dismissed him when he started to yell. It was brilliant.”

 

Pansy blanched. “You’re joking.”

 

Blaise shook his head. “Not even a little. Also, when he accused me of being a Death Eater, she turned to me, cool as a cucumber, and asked me to show her my arm. As though she had _no doubt_ that I wasn’t. It was nuts.” He scraped his hand through his hair. “I don’t think I’ve had anyone just _assume_ that I was on the up-and-up. And I never would have expected it from her.”

 

Pansy chewed through that information, trying desperately to reconcile their past with the Hermione Granger who was championing them now. “Blaise?”

 

“Hm?”

 

“Do you want to take the mark?” She asked quietly. Blaise examined his friend closely. She was slouching now—an almost unheard of event. She looked tired, like the question itself were draining her of life. Her sister had taken it, and seemed to be flourishing. Her parents expected it of her. So did his.

 

“I don’t.” He admitted. “I don’t want it.” Pansy looked up at him, desperate for his answer. “I was terrified when I heard that he’d come back. So many people died the first time around. And I might have hated the idea of muggleborns running amuck here, but the more I see Granger work and flourish, I can’t help but wonder why that was.”

 

“Muggles are violent and uncivilized.” Pansy parroted mockingly.

 

“Like we’re much better.” Blaise scoffed. There was a long silence, fraught with tension and fear. This was easily the hardest conversation they’d ever had.

 

“I don’t want it either.” She admitted. “Once, after one of Prim’s missions, she came back with this great bloody wound that stretched from the nape of her neck and down to her tailbone. She told her that she’d made a mistake. At first, I thought she meant that the mistake was what had gotten her injured, but then she told me that it had been the Dark Lord’s punishment for failure.” Blaise’s eyes nearly popped out of his skull. “He doesn’t give a damn about Purebloods. He doesn’t even treat his most loyal followers better than attack dogs.”

 

“You never told me that. Is Prim okay?”

 

“Yeah, of course. It was years ago.” Pansy assured him, but he didn’t feel assured. It was another pitfall in being in Death Eater dominated families. They never spoke about the shortcomings of the Dark Lord, for fear of further punishment. And their families—people they truly loved and cared for—would take them for traitors. Pansy’s sister had been his idol for years, and rather like an older sister to him as well. A glamorous curse-breaker and a doting sibling.

 

They all knew what happened when you left the fold. Damnatio Memoriae at best, and contract murder at worst. One of their own had been banished and disappeared off the face of the planet six years ago. She was a cautionary tale. They had no doubt that she was dead.

 

“So what are we going to do?” He asked.

 

“Our options?”

“Tell Granger what we know and ask for her help with an Unbreakable Vow of secrecy, ask Granger for an out, or ignore her offer completely.” He recounted.

 

“Asking for her help with something we don’t agree with seems pathetic and wishy-washy.” Pansy grumbled. “Ignoring her offer completely feels piss-poor, too.”

 

“What about Draco?” Blaise reminded her.

 

“We can help him better if we have her to help us.” She sighed, plucking on a thread that was hanging from her sleeve. “He’s not in a place to accept the offer himself.” Blaise nodded in agreement.

 

“Balls to the wall, then?”

 

Pansy nodded grimly. “Balls to the wall.”


	11. Twelve to Fourteen

Sunday morning, after spending her entire Saturday evening at the Pit (and mostly picking out furnishings for her room with Grin, Primrose and Amalia), Hermione slumped into a seat at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall, yearning for breakfast. She poured herself a hefty coffee mug and served herself a full stack of pancakes. 

 

“Morning, Mione.” Harry greeted her cautiously, voice still rough with sleep. She blinked at him. 

 

“What are you doing up so early?” 

 

“Quidditch practice.” 

 

Hermione grimaced. That meant that Ron would be down soon, too. She ate her pancakes a little faster. 

 

“Can I get your side on what happened in the library please? All I really heard when I unsilenced Ron was something about fraternizing with the enemy and, and I quote, ‘stupid, naive, frosty bitch’. I’m inclined to believe he’s overreacting.”

 

“He called me a frosty bitch? He just called me stupid and naive to my face. How rude.” She sniffed. 

 

“Hermione.”

 

“Yes, alright. I was studying with Blaise Zabini, and Ron came to find me. For dinner, I presume?” Harry nodded quickly and motioned for her to continue. “I was already angry with  _ you _ for your baseless accusation, and for going back on your word. Then Ron came in and started spewing more baseless accusations. He called Blaise a Death Eater to his face, called me stupid and naive, and didn’t listen to what I had to say. So, when he started yelling, I silenced him and sent him on his way.”

 

“Why were you studying with him?” Harry asked honestly. Hermione sighed. “I mean, I don’t think he’s a Death Eater, but I thought you didn’t like him.”

 

“I don’t. Actually, that’s a lie. I don’t know him well enough to know if I like him or not. Obviously there’s the packaged blood prejudice thing, but I’ve already seen enough to know he doesn’t believe in it. And he’s ridiculously smart. He and Malfoy trade off being second to me in all of our classes.”

 

Harry’s jaw dropped. “What?”   
  


“Right? I was shocked too. I was studying with him because we both needed help on the Arithmancy assignment.” She paused. “And, full disclosure, it has a little to do with my assignment.”

 

Harry’s eyes lit with understanding, and his mouth formed a little “Oh!” of realization. “Well then. It’s hardly my business who you study with. I can hardly tell you how you should be studying when you’ve be whipping my arse academically for six years.” He winked. “I’ll try to talk Ron down.”

 

“Honestly, I don’t even care anymore.” She grumbled. “Don’t tell him it has to do with my assignment. He’ll just start prying and getting his wand in a knot. I don’t want to be a slave to Ron’s temper. If he wants to remove the Beater’s bat from his arse, then he can come find me and apologize himself.”

 

Harry was somewhat disturbed that this friendship, which had withstood so much, was crumbling around him, but Hermione had a point. This was not the first time she’d been a victim of Ron’s ire, and she knew it hurt her when he iced her out and pushed the rest of them to do the same. “Alright.” He sighed. “What are you up to today?”

 

“More translations for my assignment.” She told him, perking up a little. She really did love the work she was doing for the Order, and now she had even more motivation to power through the translations. She, Grin, Rhiannon and Meridian had gotten really tight and powerful the night before, bringing each member completely up to speed with the research that had been accomplished so far, and she felt empowered by the information she was armed with. “If this project pans out, everything will be so much better.”

 

“You have this amazing ability to be completely vague, while also making me really excited.” Harry laughed. “I’m assuming you can’t tell me anything?”

 

“I can’t.” She confirmed. “If it doesn’t work, it’ll be worse if you do know.”

 

“That’s comforting.”

 

“Ignorance is bliss, on this one, Harry.” She promised. He nodded. 

 

“I trust you and you judgement implicitly, Mione.” Harry smiled at her, and she was overcome with a wave of affection. “If you’re free anytime soon…”

 

“We need to just...hang out soon.” Hermione agreed. “I’ve been so caught up with everything, I haven’t been around.” Harry shrugged, but she felt bad. This wonderful boy had put so much of his life on hold for the war, and she’d been neglecting him. “I’ll make it happen, I swear.”

 

“Come to the Quidditch match next week?”

 

“Of course.” She promised. 

 

The Weasley siblings made their appearance at the table next. Ginny looked sour, and kept shooting her brother nasty glares. Ron made a point to greet Harry, but not Hermione. She rolled her eyes. How juvenile. 

 

Ginny say next to Hermione, a touching show of solidarity. “Morning, Mione.” She muttered, grabbing some toast and sausages and tucking in. 

 

“Gin.” She greeted the younger girl warmly. “I have some updates I want to fill you in on. You free after Quidditch?”

 

Ginny nodded. “I’ll be in the library, studying with Dean. Pull me aside whenever.”

 

“Brilliant.” 

 

“Granger.” Hermione’s head snapped up. Blaise was standing at the Gryffindor table, looking uncomfortable as hell. Pansy was standing back, closer to the doors, looking ready to run. “Mind if I have a word?”

 

Ron was turning purple a few seats down. “Yes, she bloody minds, you…”

 

Hermione tucked her wand back into her robes after she silenced him for the second time in 24 hours. “Of course. Mind if I finish my pancakes? I skipped dinner yesterday.” Blaise nodded stiffly, before pulling Pansy with him to the Slytherin table. She continued to tuck into her pancakes until she realized that all of the Gryffindors (besides Ginny) at the table were staring as though she’d grown a second head. “Oh for heaven’s sake. We’re partners for an Arithmancy assignment!”

 

That seemed to be enough for all of the Gryffindors (besides Ron). Nobody had the nerve to get in the way of Hermione’s schoolwork. 

 

Harry hesitantly unsilenced Ron, and thankfully he remained furiously silent. 

 

“We’re off to practice, Mione.” Harry said, standing and shooting her an apologetic smile. 

 

“Have fun, you lot. I’ll catch up with you later.” She smiled at Harry and Ginny.

 

Now, she stood, ready to talk options with Pansy and Blaise. She only hoped that they would lean the way she wanted.

* * *

 

Pansy and Blaise didn’t favor the suspicious looks that they received when they had sat down at the Slytherin table. Draco in particular had demanded what they had been talking to Granger for. Blaise had been able to explain it away sufficiently, aided by Granger’s outburst at her own housemates, but Draco still looked uneasy. 

 

“Drake, I promise. She’s the best in our class, we can’t afford to not ask for her input just because she’s a Gryffindor.” Blaise had sighed. “It’s not like we want to.”

 

Reluctantly, Malfoy had accepted that explanation. Blaise supposed that was because without them, Draco had no one he could turn to, and he was unwilling to isolate himself any further than he had to. 

 

Hermione brought them to an empty classroom to talk, flicking her wand at the door to dispel any eavesdroppers. They looked impressed at her foresight. 

 

“The floor is yours.” She told them with a flourish of her hand. 

 

Pansy motioned for Blaise to speak. “We talked about it a lot last night, and we’ve come to a decision.” He told her. Hermione held her breath, recognizing this make-or-break moment for what it was. “We’re here to ask you for an out.”

 

Hermione’s face cracked into a joyful grin. “Of course.” She breathed. “Do you have the day free?” She asked. They both nodded hesitantly. “I need to do some due diligence. I assume you’re open to that?” They nodded again, this time even more apprehensively. She pulled out her little beaded bag, and stuck her whole arm in, rooting for the bottle she was looking for. After a long moment, she pulled out a bottle of Veritaserum. “I’m not going to ask about anything personal, or anything that doesn’t relate to our business here today.” She swore. “In time, I hope you’ll share that with my yourself.” She winked.

 

Blaise reached for the bottle first, placing a drop on his tongue before handing it to Pansy, who did the same. “We’re ready.”

 

“Is your request for a way out of Lord Voldemort’s service genuine.”

 

“Yes.” They both replied.

 

She turned to Blaise. “Do you promise to keep what I show you a secret from your housemates until they’ve been thoroughly vetted by me?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“And you?” She asked Pansy. 

 

“Sure.”

 

“If you’re comfortable with telling me, why are you asking for an out instead of for help?”

 

Pansy answered. “The Dark Lord doesn’t give a damn about us. I’m scared.” She admitted baldly. “I’m terrified that my sister will show up dead, and I’m scared that this war will consume us and destroy us.”

 

“I can’t fight for something that I don’t believe in.” Blaise murmured, barely meeting Hermione’s eyes. “I can’t take seeing Draco terrified of a mission he should be proud of. I’m worried about him. And if he’s got it bad now, as a student, what hope is there for the rest of us?”

 

“My parents took us for a dinner at the Malfoys. A celebratory dinner for Death Eaters. There were dead muggles being used as decoration, courtesy of Bellatrix Lestrange.” Pansy croaked. “For weeks after, I had nightmares that the dead faces in that dining room were faces I knew.” Blaise looked at her in surprise. She hadn’t shared that yesterday. “I kept getting stuck on your face.” She admitted. “And as much as I didn’t like you, seeing you like that woke me up screaming.”

 

Hermione’s face had gone pale. Abandoning propriety, she threw her arms around Pansy in a fierce hug. Her face went slack with shock. Hermione jumped back from her a moment later. “Sorry, I just...sorry.” Hermione said shakily. “Nobody should have to go through that, Pansy.” She said softly. 

 

“We’re serious about this, Granger, and we’re putting a lot of faith in you.” Blaise told her nervously. 

 

“I won’t let you down.” She promised. “Go get your cloaks and meet me at the edge of the grounds in 20 minutes. We’re going on a field trip.” She grinned. 

* * *

 

The three of them landed on the doorstep, and the two Slytherins immediately drew their wands. She smirked at them. “I promise I didn’t kidnap you.” She snickered. “This is my assignment for the Order of the Phoenix.” 

 

“What’s that?”

 

“Dumbledore’s secret military intelligence faction.” She replied casually, tracing the rune into the door. She strolled into the house merrilly. “Grin? Are you home?”

 

“In the kitchen!” Grin called back. “What are you doing back here so soon? Go to school for fuck’s sake.” Her tinkling laugh echoed into the hallway.

 

“Who is that?” Blaise demanded. 

 

“That’s my co-leader.” Hermione grinned. 

 

“If you’re staying for lunch, you best have brought a treacle tart from the kitchens!” Pansy froze when the voice barrelled down the hall. She turned wide, startled eyes to Hermione. 

 

“Surprise!” Hermione laughed weakly. “We’re not staying for lunch!” She called back. 

 

There was a long silence. “We?”

 

Hermione led the two dumbstruck Slytherins to the kitchen, where Grin and Primrose seemed to have been setting up a make-your-own-sandwich station. “Oh my god.” Primrose whispered, eyes going wide in alarm. “Pansy? Blaise?”

 

“Prim.” Pansy croaked. “What the fuck?” She whirled on Hermione. “What the hell is this?”

 

“Pans, give them a chance to explain.” Blaise warned. 

 

Pansy lapsed into silence, but she was shaken to her core. She kept flicking her eyes around the people in the room, never settling in one place. She was at a loss. 

 

Since no one else was taking the lead, Hermione stepped in. “This place is a safehouse for a faction of Slytherins who have actively decided to flout the Dark Lord. There are twelve members, not including me.” She told them gently. “This is Peregrine Morelle, the leader of the faction. We’re partners.” She smiled at Grin, who nodded for her to continue. “The other members are Lawrence Greengrass, Meridian Fawley, Amalia Rosier, Theomer Rowle, Joshua Selwyn, Anwar Shafiq, Adonis Pucey, Rhiannon MacDougal, and Calendula and Marcus Flint.” Pansy’s eyes finally settled on Hermione’s face, wide with shock, mouth agape in alarm. “There are four teams within the faction. Research, Espionage, Strike and Cleanup. The known Death Eaters in the group are members of the Espionage team, and they feed information to Dumbledore through me. The Research team uses information from the Espionage team to research the magic that Voldemort is using to gain an advantage. The Strike team uses the information to derail Death Eater missions as we learn about them. The Cleanup team uses the information to get rid of the evidence.” She explained as succinctly as possible. 

 

“Are you insane, Prim? This is so  _ unbelievably _ dangerous?” Pansy practically sobbed. 

 

“Pans, I want you to come of age in a world you’re not afraid to live in.” Primrose told her softly, walking to stand in front of her sister. “We have more potential than just being lapdogs and followers. The world has so much more to offer than blood purity and tradition. I want that world for us. Don’t you?” Reluctantly, Pansy nodded. 

 

“And who are you? I don’t recognize you. I thought I knew all the Slytherins from the last twenty years.” Blaise demanded hotly. 

 

“I can’t tell you yet.” Grin said apologetically. “For now, my name is Peregrine Morelle.” Blaise’s eyes narrowed, but if Primrose and Granger trusted her, he could try as well. He nodded curtly. 

 

“Welcome to the Pit.” Grin smiled softly. “Welcome home.”


	12. The Edge of Disaster

Blaise and Pansy, their guests of honor, sat with their backs facing the fireplace facing into the room. Using Hermione’s coins, Grin had spread the word that they had company at the Pit, and their attention was required. 

 

Pansy and Primrose had excused themselves while they waited for the rest of the team to convene, supposedly to hash it out. In the meantime, Blaise had peppered them with questions, thoroughly vetting the team. Hermione noticed halfway through the interrogation, that Grin was being far less forthcoming about her backstory with Blaise than she had with her. She made a mental note to ask her about that later. 

 

“Why did Prim decide to join you?” Blaise asked. 

 

“She helped me out of a sticky situation.” Grin told him hesitantly. “After that, I recruited her. Showed her around muggle London and let her see muggles for what they really were instead of what we’d been taught. I told her my plan for this team, and what I hoped to accomplish, and she got onboard.” She said simply. In the version she told Hermione, Amalia and Primrose were her best friends, and had saved her from a vengeful father and violent lackeys who were set out to kill her. 

 

“Prim isn’t the kind of person to abandon a belief system for a couple of hours of show and tell. That’s not how the Parkinsons are bred.” Blaise’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. Grin sighed. 

 

“Look, you and I both know that Morelle isn’t a pureblood name.” She said mulishly, staring him down. “It’s not my given name, and until my family is safe, you won’t be hearing my given name. Primrose trusts me. Amalia fucking Rosier trusts me. Anwar, Adonis, Joshua and Calendula trust me. They also know who I actually am. They’re good with my secrets staying secret, because it’s keeping me and the people I love safe.”

 

Blaise considered her for a moment longer. “Alright. When you’re ready then.”

 

“Thank you.” She said shortly. 

 

“I’m home!” Marcus called from the hallway. “What do you mean we have  _ company _ ? This is a safe house, it’s not like we just  _ invite people over _ .” He rounded the corner, and his eyes fell on Blaise. “Oh. Hello, mate.”

 

“Marc.” Blaise said coolly. 

 

“Oh come off it. You’re not mad at me. You just hate not knowing things.” Marcus chuckled. “Can I get you anything to eat?”

 

“Had a sandwich, thanks.” He sneered. 

 

“Righto.” He quipped cheerily. 

 

Anwar, Joshua and Calendula came home next, followed individually by Meridian, Amalia, Adonis and Rhiannon. They filled the seats, greeting Blaise cordially and met by frosty responses. Hermione rolled her eyes. Sitting next to him, she asked, “Can you honestly blame them for not telling you?”

 

He twisted his mouth sourly, into an angrier version of a pout. “Of course not. Still smarts, though.” He grumbled. Hermione held back a wry smile. She knew just how to snap him out of it. 

 

“You’re acting like Ron.” She huffed. “Honestly.”

 

His eyes snapped to her, mouth ajar with horror. “Take that back.”

 

She snorted. “Certainly not. Have you wondered why I haven’t had a civil conversation with that muppet in a month?”

 

“What’s a muppet?”

 

She ignored him. “I was given this assignment, and told to keep it a secret. He’s mad at me for not spilling all the details that Dumbledore had entrusted me with, and the second I let my guard down, he tries to pry it out of me.” She sighed. “And I know I can’t tell him because how could I  _ ever  _ trust him with this?” She looked him in they eye. “With you?” She had been trying to make a point, but somehow had found herself on the verge of tears, mourning a loss that she hadn’t even known she’d suffered. 

 

“Granger…”

 

“This,” Gesturing to the people and the house around her. “Is so much more important than any one person. This is helping people in poisonous positions and taking Voldemort down from inside of his own house. This is a family, and I wouldn’t do anything to put them at risk, not even attempt to salvage a six year friendship.”

 

The room had gone quiet around her while she gave Blaise his dressing down. He faltered, unsure of what to say next. 

 

“You are so fucking intense.  _ All the time. _ ” Amalia breathed. “Don’t you get tired, caring that much?”

 

Hermione hiccuped a pathetic laugh. “I’m a Gryffindor.” She said miserably. “We all care too much.”

 

“That’s the fucking truth.” Blaise barked out a laugh. “D’you know how she recruited us?” He asked Marcus. Marcus gestured for him to tell all. Hermione blushed violently. “First, she walzed up to us at the train platform like we were pleasant acquaintances and asked after our summers, and apologized to Draco for his father’s arrest. Then, she pretended to need my help with a rune translation and offered to trade the translation for a favor of my choice. Then, she asked after Draco like they were estranged friends and warned us to tell him to keep his head down. Started spewing all of this ridiculously detailed speech about the Slytherin experience…” His eyes narrowed and sliced around the room. “She had an inside source.” He declared, affronted. “Which one of you helped her figure out  _ exactly what to say to turn us into suckers? _ ” He demanded. 

 

“Marcus.” She whispered.

 

Marcus’ eyes widened, and Blaise swiveled in his seat to glare at his friend. “How  _ dare  _ you.”

 

“Oi! I didn’t say anything!”

 

“Boys!” Grin called. “As amusing as this is, shall we get down to business?” She turned to Anwar. “Could you fetch Primrose, please?” He nodded curtly and swept up the stairs. “Can I get you something to eat, B?”

 

Blaise jolted, startled. He swung wide eyes to Grin, and the color melted off her face. As the pieces clicked together in Blaise’s mind, they clicked together in Hermione’s as well. Grin and Blaise knew each other. From the look on Blaise’s face, they knew each other well. “Oh my god.”

 

“Don’t! Don’t say it.” She hissed, eyes wild with panic. “There’s a taboo.” His mouth dropped open in horror as the final pieces of the puzzle clicked together in his head. “Please, Blaise. Please don’t. It’s not my name anymore. I’m Peregrine Morelle. Say it!”

 

“Peregrine Morelle.” He murmured. Grin stared at him, tense and ready to flee. Hermione was awestruck. From a nickname alone, Blaise had discerned who she had been in the life she’d been forced from. All of a sudden, Hermione felt the gravity of the situation crash into her. If Blaise slipped up, they were royally fucked. 

 

She whipped out her wand and pressed it to Blaise’s forehead, whispering a spell and pulling a strand of memory from his head. The shock would remain—the realization that he could trust her, but the moment of realization was gone, contained in a little bottle that he pressed into his hand. He forgot that she used the nickname, but remembered the crash of familiarity. “Use that when she’s ready to reveal herself.” She told him seriously, gripping him by the shoulder. “Blaise, look at me. Do you know who she is?” Confused, he shook his head. “Perfect. Keep it that way.”

 

“What the  _ hell _ was that?” Amalia demanded furiously. 

 

Hermione shifted uncomfortably. “It’s a spell still in experimental phases. I stumbled across it in the Department of Mysteries. St. Mungo’s commissioned it to help survivors of traumatic experiences forget the specifics of the event without completely losing the experience. Knowledge that you’ve survived something without having memory-specific triggers or something like that.”

 

“You used an  _ experimental mental magic _ on the fly? On one of us?” She shrieked. “Are you insane?”

 

“I made sure it worked.” Hermione frowned. “I’ve practiced it on myself a few times. I still remember how to respond in terrifying moments, but don’t quite remember how I got those instincts.” She defended herself. “I wouldn’t try an experimental spell untested on another person. I’m not a sadist.” 

 

“That’s  _ brilliant. _ ” Grin breathed. “Blaise, how do you feel?”

 

“Fine. It feels like I had a shock, but I can’t remember what happened.” He shrugged. He looked down at the bottle in his hand. “This is what happened?” Hermione nodded, so he pocketed the bottle. 

 

The rest of the Pit stared at Hermione in shock. Anwar reappeared with Pansy and Primrose. They stared around the room, confused. “What happened?” Primrose asked. Marcus looked up to respond, and caught sight of Pansy. 

 

“Oh, hello.” Marcus turned to Grin accusingly. “You didn’t say she was here, too.”

 

“I wasn’t positive she would be after talking to Prim.” Grin shrugged. “Didn’t want to get your hopes up.”

 

“Grin. Say your piece, and let’s get these two sworn in.” He said tiredly. “I’ve been obliviating muggles all fucking day.”

 

Grin nodded quickly. “So I’m to understand that you’ve asked Hermione here for a way out from the Dark Lord’s service?” She asked, trying to plaster on a calm affectation after her earlier scare. Pansy and Blaise both nodded. “Where would you want to work, should you choose to be sworn in?”

 

“Research.” Blaise answered immediately. Pansy took more time to consider. 

 

“Strike, I think.”

 

Grin raised her eyebrows. “Anwar, you think Pansy would be good on Strike?” She asked. Anwar mulled it over. 

 

“I could take her through the Auror examination, see how she does.” He said after a long moment of consideration. “I’ve heard she’s pretty good.” He slid his eyes over to Marcus, who did a brilliant job disguising his flush.

 

“Brilliant. You’ve seen the membership in its entirety now. Do you have any questions?” She asked the newcomers. “Best get them out now before you make any vows.” Hermione’s brow furrowed. She hadn’t taken any vows. 

 

“Most of mine were answered.” Pansy admitted. “There’s just the one, now.”

 

“Same.” Blaise piped up. “How are we going to pull Draco and Theo in?”

 

“That’s Theodore Nott?” Grin asked. At their confirmation, she turned to Hermione. “I know you’re trying to help Draco, but what have you heard about Theo?”

 

“He keeps to himself, as far as I know.” Hermione admitted. “I don’t think I’ve actually seen him since school started.”

 

“He’s trying hard to lurk in the background. Fade into neutrality. He won’t have that option much longer. He’ll be posed with a literal fight of flight option at graduation, and when he goes home for Christmas, his parents will be laying it on thick.” Blaise insisted. “He doesn’t want to disappoint them, but he doesn’t exactly want to go the mass-murder route either.”

 

Hermione thought it through. “Look, I know you want to keep this as under-wraps as possible, but it’s time to bring Ginny in.” She said finally. When it looked like her Slytherin counterparts were going to argue, she held up a hand to stop them in their tracks. “Ginny’s brilliant, and she can connect with anyone. With some help from these two,” She pointed at Pansy and Blaise. “She’ll have him eating out of the palm of her hand in no time. Then we can give him the choice, too. Either let him join, or protect him. That’s the best I can come up with.”

 

Looking like he’d sucked a lemon, Blaise admitted: “It’s worth a try.”

 

At Grin’s reluctant nod, she asked Rhiannon to fetch Coolio. While Grin, Pansy, Blaise, and the Pit members discussed the strategy around Draco, she penned Ginny a quick note and sealed it with the portkey in an envelope. 

 

Draco was a more difficult matter. He was so entrenched in panic over his assignment (whose existence Pansy and Blaise finally confirmed for them) that he wouldn’t listen to reason. “It’s his mother. The Dark Lord’s taken up residence in Malfoy Manor, and is holding the lives of his family over his head. He feels like this unknown and probably suicidal mission is inescapable and he’s unraveling.” Pansy recounted miserably. 

 

Grin chewed on her lip, more troubled than she’d ever looked in the month that Hermione had known her. “Hermione can keep trying to slide into his life, but you two are already there.” She told them. “Keep getting after him until he slips up and lets something show. Then we’ll figure out what to do from there.” She promised. “I’m not letting him fall through the cracks.”

 

There was something in her voice that was more resolute than anything Hermione had ever heard before. A heartfelt promise that went beyond strategy. It had happened before, and only when she talked about Malfoy. Understanding, however, danced out of her reach as always. 

 

Thoroughly convinced, and indescribably hopeful, Pansy and Blaise officially declared that they were ready to take the plunge. As Grin prepared the terms of their oath, Marcus leaned over to whisper in Hermione’s ear. “How does it feel?”

 

She turned questioning eyes to him. “How does what feel?”

 

“To save the unsalvageable?” He smiled softly at her, face wrought with affection. It was so out of place on his face that it was utterly transformative. The intimidating edge that normally sharpened the angles of his face seemed to be completely missing.

 

“There’s no such thing as unsalvageable.” She whispered back. “Unless you introduce a Nimbus 2000 to the Whomping Willow.” She winked. He barked out a laugh. 

 

“Best Quidditch Game ever.” He smiled nostalgically. 

 

She frowned. “Harry was accosted by dementors and fell hundreds of feet, almost to his death.”

 

“Yeah, that wasn’t great. But I live to see Oliver Wood miserable.” He grinned. She shook her head incredulously.    
  


“Hopeless.” She tutted. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got an oath to take.” She edged over to the trio who were still discussing terms. Grin looked at her, confused. “I can hardly ask them to take an oath if I don’t take one as well.” She explained as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.”

 

Grin cracked a smile. “I don’t know why I’m surprised anymore.” She said. “You’re something else, Granger.”

 

Hermione smiled back. “So I’ve been told.”


	13. Peregrine, Blaise and Ginny, oh my!

After they’d taken their vows, Hermione led them to the door so they could each trace the rune into the door. They each revelled in the feeling of the Pit accepting their magic. And then, serendipitously, Ginny appeared on the doorstep. “Oh! Hello.” She greeted them uncomfortably. “I’ll take it that Hermione’s made two successful conversions and I don’t have to hex you half to death?”

 

“She has.” Pansy assured her at the same time Blaise said: “Please don’t.”

 

Hermione grinned. This was going to be good. “I’m going to show them their rooms, and then I’ll be right down to introduce you to everyone.” Hermione said excitedly, dragging Ginny into the living room where the snake den was still crawling. “This is Ginny, everyone. Be nice, and I’ll be right back.”

 

She pulled Pansy up the stairs by her arm, Blaise following bemusedly. “What do you mean, “our rooms?” He asked as they got closer to the second landing. She glanced down the hall, and flushed with pleasure when she saw the two rooms nestled against hers. She scuttled towards them. One room was to the right of her door, and the other to the left. She pushed the on on the left open first. “The house makes a room for each new member.” She glanced at the door next to the room she just opened. “I’m guessing this is meant to be yours, Pansy.” She stood aside and let the raven haired girl enter. “Primrose is right next door.”

 

Pansy smiled softly. “Just like at home.”

 

Pansy’s room was about as big as Hermione’s, but instead of one large window it had three thin, vertical ones. Blaise, catching on quickly, sauntered past Hermione’s door to his own room. It was smaller than theirs, but had a homey vibe despite being utterly unfurnished. “Excellent.” He smiled fondly. 

 

“Furnish them however you like. I’ll leave you to it.” 

 

Hermione had already funished hers. She’d put a sofa by the gigantic windows and hung lavender drapes that matched the curtains on the canopy. She’d ordered a fluffy white accent rug to cover the space between the couch and her coffee table. She’d lined the walls with shelves which she intended to fill with books, and she’d purchased a wardrobe, just in case she ever stayed long enough to store her clothes here.

 

She trotted back down stairs to the living room, where the Pit members were examining Ginny as though she was a fascinating but deadly laboratory specimen. “Are you all playing nicely?”

 

“They’re not playing at all.” Ginny muttered. “Just...staring.”

 

Hermione chuckled. “Everyone, this is my best friend—the only female one—Ginny Weasley.” She smiled at Ginny. “Wanna guess who everyone is?”

 

Ginny tapped her finger on her chin pensively. “Obviously I know the male Flint.” She nodded at him, a promise that bygones would be bygones. “Calendula?” Calendula smiled and nodded. “Primrose.” Primrose raised surprised eyebrows, and gave a little wave. “Anwar.” She pointed at the only dark skinned man in the room. He smirked. 

 

“Bit of a giveaway.” He said, gesturing to himself.

 

“A bit.” Ginny winked. “Um...Rhiannon MacDougal. You look sort of like Morag and Isobel. The red hair, too.” She turned to Lawrence. “You’re either Meridian or Lawrence.”

 

“Lawrence.” He confirmed. 

 

“I’m Meridian.” Meridian stuck his hand up from where he sat on the piano stool. 

 

“I’ve seen you two before. You’re Theomer Rowle and Joshua Selwyn. You were at the World Cup. Had to stop Fred and George from setting your hair on fire. Don Pucey?”

 

Adonis shot her a roguish grin. “Call me anything you like, beautiful.” Ginny smirked at him. 

 

“Donnie then.” She shot back. “Amalia Rosier. Saw you in a picture in the trophy room.”

 

She turned to Grin. “And you must be the infamous Peregrine Morelle. The Mystery of the Snake Pit.” She raked her eyes over the dark woman before her. For the first time since Hermione had met her, Grin was stoic, calculating and sharp. She was visually dissecting Ginny down to the last hair. 

 

“Pleasure to meet you.” Grin murmured. “Can I get you anything? Food? Water?”

“Pleasure’s mine. And no thanks. Hermione pulled me from lunch. I lost my appetite watching Ron eat.” She grimaced. Marcus guffawed. “So, why have I finally been allowed behind the curtain?”

 

“We have an assignment for you, and we were hoping to help you get better acquainted with your mission parameters.” Grin told her clinically. Hermione wasn’t super fond of the closed-off vibe she was getting from her co-leader, but she would address it later. “Theodore Nott, Jr. is a student in Hermione’s class who keeps to himself. Pansy and Blaise believe he can be swayed, and Hermione thinks you’re the one to do it.”

 

“I can certainly try.” Ginny promised. 

 

“Great. Pansy and Blaise will fill you in then.” She turned heel and strode into the kitchen. 

 

Ginny frowned, glancing at Hermione. Had she done something wrong? Hermione shrugged, and went after the older girl. “What’s going on, Grin?” Hermione asked when she cornered her counterpart in the kitchen. 

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Maybe you weren’t actually there for what just happened, but you just acted like a total arse to someone who’s willing to help you. Can you really afford that?”

 

“I don’t know her.” Grin snapped.

 

“You don’t know me! But you accepted me with open arms in about five minutes.” Hermione practically yelled. 

 

“No, I did know you. Because I heard all about you when I wrote to my brother. He was practically obsessed with you and he detailed every interaction he had with you for the first three years of his Hogwarts career, inadvertently telling me how fucking brilliant, kind and righteous you were. I  _ know _ you.” She hissed. “From Pansy’s letters to Prim and Marcus’s offhanded comments. From the newspaper, from Dumbledore and from Sirius. All I know about the Weasleys is that they hate Slytherins and have memories like fucking elephants.”

 

Hermione was gobsmacked, but she shook it off quickly. “Look, I didn’t know that, but Ginny is wonderful. You need to give her a chance. She almost single handedly assembled the emergency kits I gave you. Let me tell you something—If Ginny, Fred and George hadn’t been influenced by their family ahead of time, they would have been Slytherins. She doesn’t push me for more information when I can’t give it, and she was  _ so excited _ to meet you.”

 

Grin looked appropriately shamefaced. “I’m sorry Hermione. Trust doesn’t come easy to me. I have so much to lose.”

 

“You can trust me, right?” Grin nodded. “Good. Then you can trust Ginny. She’s about as anti-Voldemort as they come. She’s strong, she’s smart and she’s cunning. More importantly, she knows that sometimes action doesn’t equal intention, and she’s willing to forgive, forget and heal.”

 

Grin pushed down her pride and apologized for her behavior. “I’ll apologize to her, too.”

 

“Thank you.” Hermione sighed. She faltered. “You know, I was going to ask why you were withholding more from Blaise than you were from me. Then the whole fiasco…”

 

“Thank you for dealing with it so quickly.” Grin told her gratefully. “But yeah, Blaise knows me. So does Pansy. They know me well.” She sighed. “I’m so glad they’re here, but if they are shocked when they find out who I am...I’m fucked, and so is the Pit. Taboos break all protective enchantments. The Fidelius Charm on this place would be broken, and so would the cloaking and repelling charms. We’d be exposed and my father would know exactly where I am.”

 

Hermione pursed her lips grimly. “Then you better be careful. And when you’re ready to tell us who you are, we can go somewhere else, say it aloud and come back here after. That’ll bypass the problem, right?”

 

Grin thought it through, then nodded. “That should do it.” She agreed. 

 

“Come on.” Hermione coaxed her. “Let’s go to the library. I have a couple updates for you, and we need to work on that translation.” Grin and Hermione settled into the library. “So first of all, yesterday Katie Bell was given an opal necklace that I saw in Borgin and Burkes, and it nearly killed her. I only went into Borgin and Burkes because I was following Draco. Harry thinks he gave it to her. I think he’s been asked to kill someone in the castle, and he’s getting desperate. I’m going to say the same to Dumbledore when I see him tomorrow.” Grin went pale once again. “I’ll let you figure out what he’s up to.” 

 

“And second?”

 

“I’ve figured out the tattoos, if you’re ready.” Hermione grinned. She pulled a piece of paper from her pocket, listing the ingredients for the ink, the incantation, and the calculations she’d used to link them all together. 

 

“Nicely done!” Grin smiled, taking the paper from her and reading it over. “We could do this tonight!”

 

“You think we should?”

 

“Definitely.” Grin said. “The coins are brilliant, but unless you lose and arm, you can’t lose a tattoo.” She glanced around the room, eyes settling on the ingredients cabinet. “I think we have everything we need. Could you go grab Meridian? He was Snape’s best student.”

 

Hermione strolled through the house, looking for Meridian. She found him in the kitchen, eating dinner with Adonis and Marcus. “Could we borrow you? There’s a potion we’d like your help on.” Meridian nodded, abandoning his food to follow the Gryffindor. “I’ve figured out the team tattoos. Potions isn’t my best subject though, and the ink was a potion.”

 

“Excellent. We’ll be inked by bedtime.” Meridian chuckled. “Well done, Hermione. And well done with the memory charm earlier.” He told her more seriously. “That could have gone bad quickly. We don’t want there to be too many secrets within the membership, but the fewer people who know Grin’s real name the better. I only figured it out because of how close she is to Prim and Lia.” 

 

Hermione nodded. “I figured as much. Besides, I don’t care who she was before. It only matters who she is now.”

 

“I’m rather impressed that you think that way. She does miss being who she was. She doesn’t look the same. She’s constantly walking around in a body that’s not hers. Her face isn’t hers. She hasn’t seen her own face in six years.” He told her. Hermione blanched. She couldn’t even imagine what that was like. “She picked this ambiguous skin tone. She was pale before, but now she looks like she could be from any country below the equator. Changed her name and learned to fear it. Hasn’t heard it spoken in years.”

 

“We’ll give her her name back.” Hermione promised. “She can choose what to do with it after that. Why Peregrine though?”

 

“Have you seen her Patronus?” Hermione shook her head. “It’s a falcon.” Her mouth formed a silent “oh!” of understanding. 

 

“Will you two stop gossiping and get in here?” Grin snapped, poking her head out of the library to glare at them.

* * *

It was midnight when they finished and brought the steaming cauldron of sludgy black potion down to the living room. Ginny was still there, huddled in the corner with Blaise and Pansy. They were done discussing Theo, and now discussing the welfare of the younger Slytherin students.

 

“Alright everyone! Who’s ready to get tatted?” Grin called into the house. People shuffled into the room, ready for their Protean tattoos. Ginny looked on curiously. 

 

“You can get one too, if you’d like.” Grin offered. Ginny smiled, and nodded. “They’re like Dark Marks, but they don’t bind you to a master, they link us.” She explained to Blaise and Pansy. “They heat up when one of us is in trouble, itch when someone needs to talk, and offer apparation guidance by linking to the person in need. If the message is short, the words rearrange to spell it out with the correct password.”

 

“Let me guess.” Blaise sighed. “Granger came up with the whole thing?”

 

Hermione blushed, and Grin nodded. “Brilliant and swotty as always, Granger.” Pansy muttered. 

 

They started with Grin. Hermione dipped her wand in the potion, coating it thoroughly. 

 

“Ligatus fuero fratribus meis. Loqui verba eorum. Dolorem suum ostendere. In periculis.” She spoke clearly, tracing the words ‘Per Angusta Ad Augusta’ into her upper right arm. The potion bubbled on the surface of her skin for a moment, before bleeding into her skin like a watercolor. Everyone got one, even Ginny. Finally recognizing Ginny’s commitment, Grin took her aside and spoke to her quietly. 

 

“Hermione?” Grin called. She trotted over to her friend and co-leader. “Could you be our bonder?”

 

Hermione blanched. “You’re taking an oath?” She asked Ginny.

 

“I have the mark. I should go the whole nine yards. I’ll stick to research and recruitment.” Ginny promised. “But having an extra hand on deck can’t hurt.”

 

Hermione nodded. “Alright then. Take each other’s hands.”

 

Moments later, Ginny had promised to faithfully protect the secrets of the Pit and hold her team aloft to the best of her abilities. She had promised to come when called and protect when needed. Grin had promised to maintain Ginny’s safety for the best of her ability and do her best to look out for the Weasleys when the going got tough.

 

“I’m sorry I was short with you earlier.” Grin apologized again. “I have a hard time giving people the benefit of the doubt.”

 

“I get it. No sweat.” Ginny smiled. “We’d better get back to school, Hermione. Harry and Ron will be up the walls wondering where we are.”

 

Hermione paled. “Oh crap.”


	14. Expansion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quick note: I realized that I'm taking some of these events out of order. Apologies. I lent my source materials to a friend ;)

Ginny and Hermione were fairly miserable when they slogged down to breakfast the next morning. Across the way, Pansy and Blaise weren’t doing much better. To their right, however, Draco Malfoy looked like he’d been hit by a train. 

 

At some point, Harry and Ron dropped into the seats across from them. Ron was regaling her with a story about a spell Harry had found—one that had, in the middle of the night, hoisted him up by his ankle and dangled him in the air like he was a fishing tackle. Hermione turned unimpressed eyes to her raven-haired friend. “Was this, by chance, a spell out of that potions book of yous?” 

 

Harry frowned at her. “Always jump to the worst conclusion, don’t you?”

 

“Was it?”

 

“Well...yeah, it was. But so what?”

 

“So you just decided to try out an unknown, handwritten incantation and see what would happen?”

 

“Why does it matter if it was handwritten?” said Harry, preferring not to answer the rest of the question. 

 

“Because it’s probably not Ministry-approved,” Hermione said. “And also,” she added, as Harry and Ron rolled their eyes. “Because I’m starting to think this Prince character was a bit dodgy.”

 

Harry and Ron weren’t having any of it. “You just don’t like the Prince because he’s better than you at potions!” He declared, pointing a sausage at her sternly. 

 

“That’s not true! Half the bloody universe is better than me at potions, Ronald. I just think it’s irresponsible to start performing spells on others when you don’t even know what they’re for!” She had used unsanctioned spells, but at least she’d tested them on herself first, before using them on the population at large. Her voice had gotten a bit shrill and loud. From the Slytherin table, Blaise was giving her a disbelieving look.  _ It’s different _ ! She thought vehemently. 

 

“That was uncalled for Ron. You’re pants at potions, too.” Ginny scolded him.

 

“Yeah, but I don’t have an academic ego the size of Uranus.” He scoffed condescendingly. Hermione bypassed irritated and leapt to furious. 

 

“You don’t seem to mind my academic ego when I’m fixing the idiotic blunders you make on a daily basis.” She spat venomously. “What if that spell did something worse? What if it didn’t just dangle you around? What if it was more forceful, and you’d slammed into the ceiling? What if it picked you up high and dropped you? Did you even bother to find the verbal roots for the incantation to find it’s base intent? You could have killed him.” Hermione sneered. “Go ahead. Keep on ignoring my advice because you think I’m a swotty killjoy. But don’t come crying to me when you do damage that you can’t reverse.”

 

She stood and moved to the other end of the table, and Ginny (after offering her brother a baleful glare) joined her. Harry had gone white by the end of her speech. His expression cleared a little when Dennis Creevey handed him a little slip of paper. He turned to her once he’d read it, and mouthed ‘ _ Dumbledore’s next lesson’ _ . She nodded curtly. He would tell her about it later, no doubt.

 

“Harry m’boy!” Slughorn’s voice seemed to ricochet off the walls. “That’s three of my suppers you’ve missed now!”

 

Hermione grimaced. So far, she’d been to two of Slughorn’s dinners, and they’d been tolerable at best. They’d narrowly missed Slughorn in Hogsmeade on Saturday, but it seemed there was only so much avoidance they could swing when they lived in the same castle as the man. 

 

“Sorry, sir. I’ve had Quidditch.” 

 

“We have one tonight!” Slughorn exclaimed. 

 

“I have a meeting with Dumbledore.” Harry feigned regret. Hermione sighed. Another Slug Club dinner with Cormac McLaggan making suggestive gestures across the table while the Slytherins brown-nosed their most connected professor. Brilliant.

 

A light went off in Hermione’s head, and she flashed Pansy and Blaise an excited grin. They looked alarmed, casting their eyes around to make sure no one had seen. Once Harry had made his apologies and Slughorn started to walk away, she caught up to him. “Good morning, sir!” She chirped. 

 

“Good morning Ms. Granger!”

 

“Can we talk for a moment?”

 

“Of course.” He smiled his watery smile and led her from the hall. “What can I do for you?” He asked kindly. 

 

“I know you’re a little hesitant to let Malfoy and Parkinson into your dinner club, but I’d like to vouch for them.” She said confidently. Slughorn was shocked. 

 

“I can’t say that’s what I expected…”

 

“I know. I don’t like them much, but that’s house rivalry for you.” She said flippantly. “The fact of the matter is, they’re incredible students. Both of them are in the top ten in our year, they just keep to themselves. I know Malfoy’s work has been suffering, and I think that an invitation to network with the amazing people you introduce us to could do him real good.” Slughorn’s surprise grew. 

 

“Surely his poor performance improves your odds?” He asked. 

 

“Is it really winning when your strongest opponent isn’t on the game board?” She asked cheekily, and he let out a merry belly-laugh. 

 

“Aren’t you a feisty one.” He grinned. 

 

“Honestly professor, I can’t help myself.” She admitted. “I hate the bugger, but I’m worried about him. He’s just...an echo of himself this year. Maybe it’s the Gryffindor martyr in me, but I want him back to normal.” She sighed. She thought she deserved an Academy Award for this performance. 

 

“Very well, Miss Granger.” He said, clearly touched. “I’ll reach out to them today after class. Thank you for your input. I hope they have as much potential as you see in them.” 

 

With a great sense of accomplishment and a spring in her step, Hermione strode back into the Great Hall. She settled across from Ginny, a triumphant smirk etched into her face. She shot that smirk to her Slytherin counterparts, who just looked more alarmed.

 

Harry and Ron noted the strange behavior, but being on Hermione’s shit list meant that they didn’t get to hear about her subtle misdirections in her larger game. She leaned across to Ginny, whispering the plan to her redheaded friend. Harry couldn’t help but wish that he was the one to put that smile on Ginny’s face, and could help but feel slighted that she was siding with Hermione over him. His ire grew when Ginny looked over at the Slytherin table with a wide grin. His eyes narrowed with suspicion when they looked alarmed rather than disgusted. 

 

Ron, on the other hand, was willfully ignoring them both. He was chatting with Dean and Seamus about something or the other.

 

Class wasn’t much better. Harry was cross with Hermione and certainly didn’t want to brew a potion with her while he was using the Prince’s book, so he partnered with Ron. Pansy partnered with Nott so that Blaise could partner with Hermione. Hermione was furious with Harry for being reckless instead of focusing on what mattered, like learning about Tom Riddle and actually learning instead of taking unchecked advice from scribbles in a book. She prepared her perfect ingredients in silence. Blaise shot her questioning glances as they worked. Finally he mumbled, “Are you going to tell me why you and Weaslette were grinning at us over breakfast?”

 

“Later.” She muttered back. “Pass the shrivelfig. Can you dice the yuca root?” She continued working. He had never been so confused by a singular person in his whole life. 

 

“Your mood swings are becoming aggravating.” Blaise told her quietly, fulfilling her requests quickly and skillfully. “What were you hollering about at breakfast?”

 

She sighed. They were teammates now, and she had sworn to give him as much information as she possibly could. “Harry has a book—the potions book? It has all kinds of notes scribbled around the edges. Most of them just improve his potions, but some of them are untested, unsanctioned spells. He tried one this morning without doing any due diligence, and he’s mad at me for being concerned.”

 

“You’re Hermione Granger. Concerned is how you operate.” He whispered incredulously. Then, he gave her a sly glance. “Although you did use an unsanctioned spell on me last night.”

 

“Not before I’d tested it on myself. And when I stole it, it was already in testing stages.” She defended herself hotly. 

 

“What did you take from yourself?” Blaise asked, abandoning his slicing to ask her head-on.

 

Hermione bit her lip. “I’ll let you see it. I don’t remember it, so I can’t exactly tell you. But you can see it later.” She promised. “Now can we please finish the potion?” Blaise nodded quickly, passing her the next set of ingredients. 

 

Then from the desk two rows up and one row over, Hermione heard Slughorn congratulate Harry boisterously for how flawlessly emerald green his potion had become. She scowled venomously. “Why so sour?” He asked. 

 

“That fucking book is giving him special instructions that he doesn’t even understand, and he’s getting credit for work that isn’t his.” She growled.

 

“Want me to fix it for you?” He grinned. She blinked at him, surprised. “Anything for a teammate.” He joked. She suppressed a smile. 

 

“I don’t want to sabotage him. I just want him to think for himself instead of kowtowing to some numpty who calls himself the half-blood prince.” 

 

Blaise snorted. “The half-blood prince?” Hermione nodded, rolling her eyes as she went. “Well, you may not want to sabotage him, but I do.” He winked. He pressed his fingers to his brand-new tattoo. From across the way, Pansy scratched her arm and glanced down at it in confusion. She tugged her sleeve up and muttered the password. When she read what was written there, she glanced up at Blaise and Hermione with a mischievous grin.

 

As soon as Slughorn’s back was turned, she levitated a small sliver of toad spleen (an ingredient meant to come much later in the process) into Harry’s cauldron. He watched in dismay as his potion turned black and ashy, bubbling and smelling like sulfur, letting off massive billows of smoke. 

 

Hermione suppressed the deep satisfaction that bubbled up from her core. She attempted to plaster on a disapproving stare when Pansy turned back to smile at her. Unfortunately, Harry saw the same disapproving stare when he looked back and assumed it was directed at him. He pulled a sour face, almost a sneer, before turning back to his potion furiously. “Petulant, isn’t he.” Blaise commented casually. She nodded once and added her finely trimmed daisy stems. “Is he always like that?”

 

“They think I’m jealous of Harry’s potions success and am trying to sabotage their fun.” She told him. “I agree that he needs to have fun, but for fucks sake, go flying! Play chess or something. Why does he have to experiment with untested spells and potions adjustments?” She hissed. “He’s going to kill someone, or worse, he’ll kill  _ himself _ .”

 

“Yeah, not smart.” Blaise agreed calmly, using his wand to stir the cauldron counter-clockwise in a slow, even tempo. “Especially since he’s supposedly our only hope.”

 

“No use agonizing about it now. They’re going to give me the silent treatment until they need me. I’ll use my time in the deafening silence to finish those Rune translations and run diagnostic spells on the map.” She murmured. Blaise smiled sadly at her.

 

“I’ll join you.”

 

She smiled back. She never admitted how much it sucked when Ron and Harry closed ranks on her when she was just trying to keep them safe. It was good to know she still had people in her corner when she felt closed off.

 


	15. Trauma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Since Harry Potter is *technically* a children's book, I decided to add some of the horrors of real war. Merry Christmas.

In the library, Hermione and Blaise chose the most discreet table the could—far from the entrance and hidden behind the entrance to the restricted section. She spread out the translations across the desk and stacked the source materials and textbooks off to one side. 

 

“Before we get started…can I see the memory?” He asked hesitantly. Hermione tensed. She’d almost forgotten. Pansy and Draco had been held back by Professor Slughorn, presumably to be invited to dinner later that evening. Harry and Ron were with Ginny at Quidditch practice. Now was as good a time as any to show him the most traumatic event she’d ever forgotten she’d experienced. She nodded stiffly. “You don’t have to…”

 

“You don’t have to.” He backpedaled. She held up her hand.

 

“I want someone to know. Harry and Ron don’t know what happened. I just know it was at the Department of Mysteries, and by the time it happened they were already fighting Lucius Malfoy in the Death Chamber.”

 

She reached into her bag and pulled out a tiny vial, filled with silvery gray fluid, swirling around the edges as though it wanted to get out. “You know where the Room of Requirement is?” She asked. He nodded. “Go ask it for a pensieve.” She instructed. He nodded and took the vial, departing shortly after. Alone with her project, she set to work. By the time he got back she had translated three more ingredients: Powdered Mooncalf hooves, Crocus stamen and Persephone’s trumpet flowers. Those were rare. 

 

She looked up at Blaise when he returned. His jaw was set and there was a lost look in his eyes. He couldn’t seem to meet her gaze. “That bad?” He nodded, clenching his teeth behind sealed lips. He was tense, almost rigid when he sat back down.

 

“I would like to formally discourage you from ever watching this.” He said tightly. His voice was rough with emotion. Something negative, like fury, anguish, or terror. “Because that was fucking terrible.”

 

Hermione studied him as he came to grips with her memories. She knew they were bad, or else she wouldn’t have forcibly removed them. She didn’t want to know. At least not now. It could wait until the war was won, and she had some time to process her trauma. It looked like Blaise was processing her trauma, too. “Are you going to be alright?”

 

“I’ll be fine. I’m more worried about you. About what happened. Death Eaters have a penchant for vendettas.” He growled. Hermione’s gut churned with unease. He was getting extremely protective, extremely fast. “Can I see it?”

 

She frowned, confused. “You just did. You said you hated it and that it was fucking terrible.”

 

“Your scar.” He clarified quietly. The request sent a thrum of shock through her. No one had ever asked to see it. She hid it fastidiously and even Harry and Ron had forgotten it was there. She swallowed thickly. 

 

She glanced around to make sure that they were alone before unfastening her tie, hands shaking. She popped the first three buttons of her perfectly pressed uniform shirt and pushed aside the crisp material. Blaise felt sick when the scar came into view. The scar tissue was thick and knotted like twisted ropes spread across her sternum under her skin. It was paler than the rest of her flesh, and raised. “Ugly, isn’t it?” She whispered, ashamed. 

 

“I think the ugliness of scars is a false and ultimately self-reflective notion.” He told her somewhat clinically. His eyes betrayed the fury and disgust he was truly feeling. She cast her eyes down. “We’re afraid of death. Scars remind the feeble minded that we’re fragile. They remind the cunning that we’re made of stronger stuff than we think. We heal and grow. We live to fight another day.”

 

Hermione flushed, tears welling up in her eyes. “I almost didn’t. I wasn’t breathing when Tonks found me. And this,” she gestured to her chest, “was there when I woke up, all red and infected and hideous. It wouldn’t heal properly, no matter what Madam Pomfrey did. I can’t get dressed without seeing it. It’s this constant reminder that our stupidity got Sirius killed and almost killed me, too.” She buttoned her shirt hastily. 

 

“But you’re here, and you know better now. And you’re stronger for it, whether you believe it or not.” Blaise insisted firmly. “I’m not going to tell you what happened to you, but it was fucking terrible to watch. It was certainly worse to live through. But you did live through it, and even though you know the danger, you’re still fighting. You’re impressive as hell, Granger. The scar proves that.”

 

She sniffed and gave him a watery smile. “Thanks, Blaise.” He nodded sharply, sensing that he’d gotten through to her. “I’m going to go clean myself up. You can keep going through it without me.” She waved her hand at her research, and he nodded.

 

When she was out of sight, Blaise pressed his hand to his tattoo, focusing on Grin, Pansy and Marcus. They needed to talk, and soon. 

* * *

 

Long after their research session, Hermione was striding to Slughorn’s office in a dark pair of blue jeans and a lavender jumper. Slughorn’s dinner parties weren’t formal, but they were classy. 

 

When she walked in the door, Pansy and Blaise were both there. To her surprise and delight, so was Ginny. She practically skipped to the table. “Sorry I’m late! The Sir Cadogan decided to regale me with the tale of how she almost married Lady Merrimoor the Weird. It was a hard conversation to run away from.”

 

“Not at all, Miss Granger.” Professor Slughorn waved off her apology, even as Blaise and Pansy raised amused eyebrows at her. “We were just welcoming our newcomers. Miss Weasley, Miss Parkinson and Mister Malfoy.”

 

She nodded politely to the other two and took her seat next to Ginny. “You didn’t tell me you’d be here.” She plastered on a smile. “What did she do to deserve the seat?”

 

“Really, I should have put her in detention for it, but honestly the skill was impeccable.” Slughorn told them conspiratorially. “It was at the expense of another student, and it was the most flawlessly executed blemishing jinx I’ve ever seen. Spelled a word out on his head. What was it Miss Weasley?” He looked to her to recall the word.

 

“Dunce.” She mumbled, flushing tomato red. “It spelled Dunce.”

 

Hermione laughed aloud, before slapping a hand over her mouth in embarrassment. She had taught Ginny the jinx after the Marietta Edgecombe fiasco last year. 

 

Pansy and Blaise were fighting smiles. They weren’t supposed to smile at their Gryffindor counterparts. Draco looked jarred. He tried to remember if he’d ever heard Hermione laugh when it wasn’t derisive. 

 

“Rumor has it you have a hefty research project running, Ms. Granger.” Professor Slughorn smiled warmly. Hermione fought the urge to grimace. “Anything you’re up to sharing?”

 

“Uh…” She thought quickly. “I’m working on a spell that will remove traumatic memories without removing the learned instinct.” She cleared her throat uncomfortably. “To reduce trauma that is triggered by specific instances and rather by overall scenarios.”

 

Okay, so it was someone else’s spell, but Slughorn didn’t know that. “That’s quite a worthy spell, Ms. Granger.”

 

“I got the idea from a similar experimental spell that I heard about from Mr. Weasley. I was hoping to create something that leaves a shadow of the memory instead of completely removing it. You never know what kind of information is crucial, even if it’s traumatic. It needs a lot of work though.” She admitted. 

 

“I know some books you can look at, Granger.” Blaise offered quietly. “I’ll write you a list. I’m not sure they’re all in the Hogwarts library though.”

 

“Thank you, Zabini.”

 

“Mnemone Radford was Mnemone Radford nee Parkinson.” Pansy told her coolly. “If you’d like, I can owl home and ask if they have any of the original research she did.” Draco looked at his friends like they’d gone ‘round the twist.

 

Hermione’s eyes widened dramatically, and Blaise sighed. “Honestly Pansy, what  _ were  _ you thinking? Offering more fodder for Granger’s swotiness.”

 

“My mistake.” Pansy agreed. 

 

“I know nothing has happened yet,” Slughorn interrupted. “But my dinners are to be civilized engagements and meetings of the mind. Understood?”

 

“Of course, sir.” Blaise agreed pleasantly. Hermione envied his natural ability to disarm those around him. “Just a bit of light banter.”

 

“Besides, Granger gives as good as she gets. Always the worthiest opponent.” Pansy commented lightly. 

 

Hermione smirked. “Was that a compliment, Parkinson? I knew you liked me.” She pulled the appropriate look of disgust and disdain. Slughorn’s eyes were volleying between them, trying to discern if what he was witnessing was truly light banter or subtle animosity. “Don’t worry professor. Blaise here has actually lent a few notes to my research. He’s in quite a few of my classes.”

 

“I remember that.” Ginny noted with a mischievous grin. Hermione eyed her warily. “You came back to the common room all flustered and irritated because you asked for help.”

 

“Now  _ that _ sounds more like Granger.” Malfoy smirked. 

 

“Haven’t you been working on something too, Malfoy?” She asked with genuine, polite interest. “You’ve been in the library an awful lot. Far more than the course load requires. I should know.” She smiled self-deprecatingly. 

 

He looked at her like she had finally had her psychotic break—uneasy with a side of wary—when he responded. “Nothing special. My mother broke something special to her a few years back. I’m working on fixing it for her birthday.” He cleared his throat awkwardly, as though his discomfort came from being perceived as a good son. Blaise gave her a look that told her that he was  _ definitely _ bullshitting her. 

 

Hermione smiled politely before turning her attention to the dinner plate before her. Slughorn asked Pansy about herself, and how her sister was doing. “You knew my sister, sir?”

 

“Oh yes. Primrose Parkinson was the best member of the dueling club in her year. I thought for sure she’d be an Auror. She would have done quite well at the ministry. She probably would have been running the Department of Magical Law Enforcement within the next five years.” He remembered fondly. 

 

“She’s quite well, sir. She loves her job. She’s working as a curse breaker.” 

 

Flora and Hestia Carrow, two of Pansy’s Slytherin lackeys, smiled simperingly. “Our mother saw her for tea last week. She looks to be flourishing.” One of them said.

 

“Excellent! Do pass on my regards.”

 

“Of course professor.”

 

The conversation continued that way, Slughorn picking an individual and prying into their lives. Eventually, they broke into smaller discussions. Cormac McLaggen was making eyes at her again, and ultimately decided to make obscene suggestions with his dessert spoon. Draco eyed the display disgustedly. “Honestly McLaggen, have some class.” He muttered. Hermione was immensely grateful when he dropped his display to scowl at Malfoy.

 

It didn’t last long. When he started up again, Ginny quietly sent a stinging jinx at him under the table. He yelped like a kicked puppy and Blaise hid a snigger behind his napkin. Draco looked oddly satisfied, too. 

 

“Is everything alright, Miss Granger?”

 

“Actually, sir, I’m feeling a bit ill. Would you mind if I excused myself early?”

 

“Not at all, dear girl. Can I get you anything? I have quite a few potions that might help.” He offered kindly, eyes brimming with concern. 

 

“That’s alright, professor.” She smiled fondly. “I’m just going to go to bed. It happens sometimes. I eat too much at dinner after forgetting to eat all day, and I just feel uncomfortable.” She assured him. Appeased, he let her go. She shot McLaggen a scathing look, which he seemed to mistake for burning desire. 

 

“Would you like me to walk you back, Hermione?” He offered eagerly. 

 

“ _ NO. _ ” She yelped. “No, I mean, I’ll be fine on my own.”

 

Disappointed, he settled back into his chair. She fled the room, eager to leave Cormac’s disgusting behavior behind her. Once she was safely in her dorm again, her arm started to itch. 

‘ _ If you need us to neuter him, let us know.’ _ Is all it said. She wasn’t sure if it was Blaise, Pansy or Ginny, but it was nice to know that they’d all given her the option. 

* * *

 

“Anyone home?” Blaise called as he walked into the Pit. Ginny and Pansy followed closely behind him. “Grin? Marcus?”

 

“You’re back again?” Marcus groused. He had been taking a nap on the couch. “What does a guy have to do to get a little sleep around here?” He buried his face back in the pillow. Pansy and Blaise shared an amused look. Ginny just looked surprised and uncomfortable. This was a very different Marcus Flint than the one she’d chatted with yesterday. 

 

“Is someone grumpy after naptime?” Pansy cooed. Marcus looked up again to give her the evil eye. “It’s okay, snookums, we know you get cranky.”

 

“Call me snookums again Parkinson, and see what happens to your face.” He growled at her. 

 

“He gets cranky when he’s tired.” Blaise explained. Ginny smiled. 

 

“How tired was he in Hogwarts? Because that would explain quite a lot.”

 

“Shut it Weaslette.” He snapped, raising himself up off the couch. “What did you want to talk about, Blaise?”

 

Blaise cast his eyes around, looking for Grin. “Where’s our charming leader?”

 

“Fuck if I know.” 

 

“Ginny, could you find her please? I don’t want to say this twice.” Blaise requested. Ginny disappeared to search for the older girl. When they returned, he began. “For the record, Granger is absolutely going to kill me for telling you this.”

 

“Then...maybe you shouldn’t tell us?” Ginny said as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. And honestly it was. But he was more worried about his new handler than he was about the potential fallout after the war.

 

“I thought about it. But there are aspects to this that we need to consider, and it can’t just be me pulling strings.” Blaise explained. “That memory spell she used on me? She used it on herself first. She showed it to me today.” He swallowed. 

 

“What does that have to do with us?” Grin asked confused. 

 

“It was a memory from the Department of Mysteries last year. She was attacked by Dolohov.”

 

The Slytherins in the room winced. “We already knew that.” Ginny said slowly. “She has the scar and everything.”

 

“You know about the spell he used to take her down.” Blaise disagreed. “I’m almost certain you don’t know about the rest.” He exhaled roughly. “When you lot were running from Lucius, after Hermione had already been attacked, Dolohov raped her. That scar on her chest isn’t from the curse. The curse he used doesn’t leave a mark. That scar is from a cursed blade. He kept telling her that he wanted to see if she tasted muddy.”

 

There was horror and disgust painted on each and every face in the room. Ginny had gone deathly white. 

 

“He also said that she was the best mudblood he’d ever had, and that he’d see her again soon.” Blaise said darkly. “It was the worst thing I’ve ever seen, and my mother is Adrianna Zabini. I thought the woman invented horrible.”

 

“He’s going to come after her again?” Ginny croaked. Blaise nodded.

 

“I think we can count on it.” He relayed grimly. “That fucker is one hell of a piece of work.”

 

“No wonder she took the memory.” Grin uttered, her voice surprisingly strong. “What do we do?”

 

“I think we prioritize him for the strike team.” Pansy said. Her eyes turned to Marcus. “What do you think, Marc?”

 

Bad attitude gone, Marcus nodded slowly. His face was set into an ugly scowl that reminded Ginny of his school days. She had almost forgotten how menacing he looked. “I’ll bring it to Joshua and Anwar.” He growled. “He’ll be out of the picture by the end of the month.” He swore. 

 

Ginny shivered. Even for a demon like Dolohov, it chilled her to know how easily they talked about murder. She was grateful nonetheless. “God, she’s going to  _ remember _ someday.” She whispered, horrified. Blaise nodded again.

 

“That’s why I wanted you here. When she decides she’s ready, I think you’ll need to be there.” He told her gently. Ginny nodded vigorously. 

 

“There’s no question about it.”

 

“Good.” Blaise scrubbed his hand over his face. “I wanted someone to talk to after just watching it. I can’t imagine reuniting something that traumatizing with my memory as a personal experience.” 

 

Grin watched him sadly. “You turned out good, Blaise. Thanks for telling us.” 

 

Blaise watched her, still somewhat confused. The tug of familiarity pulled at him again, but he ignored it. “I couldn’t take care of it on my own.” He said simply. 

 

“You’ll never have to.” She assured him. Pansy was looking at her too, now. She drank in the unfamiliar facial features hungrily, searching for the piece she was missing.

 

“I’m going to go find Anwar and Josh.” Marcus told them. “I’ll see you all later.”

 

They bid him farewell. They stewed in silence for a while, unsure of what to say. Grin took the initiative to change the subject. “How’s Hermione coming with that next set of translations?”

 

“We worked on it today, actually.” Blaise slumped into the couch, grateful for the change of pace. “We’re making good headway. I think we’re almost done with the ingredient list.” He assured her. 

 

“What ingredient list?” Ginny demanded.

 

“The rune translations I assigned to Hermione are part of a ritual.” Grin told her patiently. “That’s all I can say.” She said apologetically. Ginny nodded. “And Pansy, when’s your evaluation for the strike team?”

 

“We decided to postpone it a while, since I can’t actually do anything for the strike team until I’m out of school.” There was an undercurrent of bitterness to her tone. “I’m doing espionage work until then. Mostly trying to get through to Draco. Bugger wants to do everything on his own.”

 

“Sounds like Draco.” Grin snorted. Ginny turned calculating eyes to her new friend. “Alright, would you all stop dissecting me? We’ve already established that I know these two somehow. Reason states that I know Draco, too. Seriously, it’s safer for  _ everyone  _ to keep it under my hat until later.”

 

“Curiosity doesn’t go away when you feed it logic instead of satisfaction.” Blaise smiled at her. “We can’t help it. We won’t ask, though. Isn’t that right?” He asked his companions. They reluctantly nodded.

 

Grin rolled her eyes. “Go back to school.” She sighed. “We’ll see you this weekend.  _ With _ the translations, I hope.” She eyed Blaise sternly, and he saluted jauntily. 

 

“Yes ma’am.” 


	16. Pain and Revelation

The next Hogsmeade weekend wasn’t nearly as interesting as the first. Katie Bell’s incident aside, at least they’d been able to go shopping. Zonko’s had been boarded up, and Honeydukes wasn’t nearly as busy as it normally was. A quiet had fallen over Hogsmeade that had them all on edge. People were afraid. 

 

“God this place is glum.” Ron grumbled. The three of them had hesitantly made up a week ago, and had agreed to go to Hogsmeade together. They hadn’t realized how depressing it would be. 

 

“At least the Three Broomsticks is still open.” Hermione said, trying valiantly to be optimistic. The Hogwarts students who’d decided to attend were drifting around somewhat aimlessly. In the distance, she could see her Slytherin counterparts entering Dervish and Banges with Malfoy. 

 

Distracted by the sight, she crashed straight into someone. “Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry! I wasn’t looking where I was going...Mundungus?”

 

“Oh, er…’ello you three.” Mundungus looked distinctly unhappy to see them. He scrambled to pick up his things, and they bent to help him. 

 

Hermione picked up a silver goblet and turned it over in her hands. She froze, and Harry took note of it too. “These are Sirius’ things.” Harry whispered, looking around the clutter. “You’re nicking stuff from Grimmauld Place? Did you even wait a day before you raided the place?” He bellowed. 

 

“You slimy leech of a man.” Hermione hissed, eyes narrowing. “You petty little…” Mundungus reached for his wand, supposedly to apparate away. “Petrificus Totalus!” She hissed, snapping her wand out. He stiffened and fell over like a plank of wood. 

 

“Fucking cockroach.” Harry growled. “You had  _ no right! _ ”

 

Hermione was fuming. If Sirius came back, it would be to a stripped house. He’d had too much stolen from him already. “Do you have no sense of decency?” She sneered. Ron was staring at her confused. To his memory, she’d never cared this much about Sirius. 

 

“I’ll take it from here, you three.” A voice came from behind them. They turned to find a woman with mousy brown hair. “Wotcher.” She smiled thinly. Tonks looked gaunt and plain—a far cry from her usual demeanor. 

 

“He was stealing from Grimmauld Place.” Hermione fumed. “He was stealing from  _ Harry. _ ” Harry blinked, surprised. He’d forgotten he’d inherited the place.

 

“I’ll take care of it. And I’ll put this lot back where it belongs.” Tonks promised. “You three move along and keep your noses clean.” She insisted. Reluctantly, they complied, making their way to the Three Broomsticks. 

 

“I know why he’s in the Order, but I hate that man.” Hermione sneered into her Butterbeer. Harry nodded his agreement. 

 

She stared at the window, willing herself to calm her ire. The leaves were almost gone from the trees, and she reveled in the knowledge that it was only late October. So much had happened and been accomplished in such a short span of time, and yet huge fragments of her life felt like they were crumbling at the seams. Her friendships with Harry and Ron were holding on by a thread at this point, she hadn’t gotten anywhere  _ near _ Malfoy since the Slug Club dinner, and Harry was investigating dangerous magic with Dumbledore while she tried to juggle a pile of secrets that she couldn’t even see the top of anymore. 

 

Blaise Zabini and Pansy Parkinson were becoming two of her closest friends at an alarming rate. What was the world  _ coming to _ ?

 

“You alright, Hermione?” Harry asked, green eyes staring through her, filled with concern. She offered him a weak smile.

 

“I’ll be fine. I just…” She sighed. “Sometimes I remember the way I treated Sirius in those final months, and I regret it. Especially since he turned out to be so  _ right _ about Kreacher.” She was becoming a crybaby, too. She’d cried in front of a Slytherin a week ago. She wanted to cry now. 

 

“He didn’t hold it against you. Sometimes I think you managed to actually make him feel something akin to shame.” Harry chuckled. “But he knew you were trying to keep him from succumbing to loneliness and darkness.”

 

“I was lecturing him, Harry. Plain and simple.” She said bitterly. Ron shook his head in a rare moment of emotional maturity. 

 

“You remember that speech you made when Harry thought Sirius had gone off his marbles? About Azkaban and what it did to your head, even if you got out? Prolonged exposure to Dementors and all that?” He spoke through a mouthful. “You weren’t just lecturing him. He treated Kreacher like  _ crap _ , even though he had a hard-on for equality in the wizarding world and fair treatment of magical creatures.”

 

Harry and Hermione looked at Ron in surprise. “That was...really insightful, Ron.” Harry told him haltingly. “Are you feeling alright?”   
  


“Shove off.”

 

“Well, he’s feeling alright.” Harry told her blandly. Hermione giggled. “But seriously, Hermione, Sirius knew you cared about him.”

 

She nodded uncomfortably. “I know. I just could have been more gentle. Had more perspective for what he was going though.”

 

“We all could.” Harry said. 

 

“Don’t even get me started on mum.” Ron said around another bite of steak and kidney pie. Hermione wrinkled her nose.

 

“I get that you need to eat, and I get that you want to talk, but couldn’t you do them one at a time?” Hermione asked, exasperated. “Honestly, Ron. I’m too busy avoiding food splatter to make out what you’re saying half the time.”

 

He shrugged.

 

Hermione was glad when Harry noticed Ginny kissing Dean in the corner. She didn’t know how much longer she could talk about Sirius without telling Harry about the ritual. She hated keeping things from him, especially when they were this significant. 

 

A week earlier, they’d had a meeting at the Pit, and Blaise and Hermione had turned in their completed list of ingredients. Some of them were ridiculously hard to procure, but with the Espionage’s connections in the community of dark wizards, they anticipated a month’s turnaround. 

 

They were on the final set of translations. If Sirius was coming back, he was coming back soon.

* * *

 

In one of the few instances that Hermione was ever alone anymore (Blaise and Pansy joined her in the library, Harry and Ron joined her in classes and meals and Ginny had become her veritable shadow), Hermione was on her rounds as a Prefect. She had already busted two fifth-years who were out after hours giving each other some action in an empty classroom, and a seventh-year who had been sneaking back to his dormitory. Adrian Pucey, she remembered. He’d taken the loss of points gracefully in exchange for no detention time. She made a mental note to mention it to Adonis. Don. 

 

She had finally made it to the seventh floor without further incident, when she heard a loud crash in the Charms classroom. Nervous, but curious, she peeked her head in, almost to get hit by the shrapnel remains of a chair. “Watch it!” She shrieked. Draco Malfoy whipped around wildly. “What the hell is wrong with you? Destroying school property  _ and _ out past hours?”

 

“Fuck  _ off, _ Granger!” He bellowed. There was something wrong with his face. His jaw was clenched in fury and his eyes glowing with rage, but he was paler than normal and if she wasn’t mistaken, the candles lighting the room were reflecting off of tear tracks. She was witnessing a boy who was unravelling at the seams.

 

“Are you alright, Malfoy?” She asked hesitantly, as though trying to soothe an offended hippogriff. His nostrils flared and his mouth twisted into a sneer.

 

“It’s none of your _fucking_ business. You might have gotten to Pansy and Blaise, but you’re not infecting me with your high-strung mudblood _nonsense.”_

 

For aa guy whose puberty had hit well over three years ago, Malfoy’s voice was rather shrill. “Relax, alright? I’m not trying to get in your head, I just genuinely want to know if you’re okay.” She put her hands up in surrender. “Even for a ridiculous prat like you, destroying a classroom while screaming like a banshee in the middle of the night is a bit off.”

 

He stiffened. “I do  _ not _ scream like a  _ banshee _ .” He hissed, affronted. Hermione couldn’t contain the giggle, and his eyes widened in alarm as he stumbled away from her. “What is  _ wrong  _ with you?”

 

“I called you a ridiculous prat and you’re offended that I compared you to a banshee.” She continued to giggle. She stopped abruptly, wondering if it was as funny as she thought it was. “Maybe I’m sleep-deprived.” She murmured to herself.

 

“You’ve gone off the deep end. Making nice with people who would pay  _ money  _ to see you forced to lick their shoes.”

 

“I think you underestimate Zabini and Parkinson.” Hermione shrugged. “They’re quite smart once you give them a solid logical proof for why their assumptions are erroneous. Would you like me to try it on you?”

 

“They already tried it. In their attempt to get me to turn my back on my family.” He snapped at her.

 

“Then back to the point, yes? Are you okay?”

 

“I’m fine.”

 

She examined him. “I don’t believe you.”

 

“Well believe it or not, mudblood, I don’t give a rat’s arse what you believe.” He sneered. Hermione noted absently that being called a mudblood didn’t hurt nearly as much when she had reason to believe it was bravado. 

 

“Hm. Well, alright. Because I’m assuming you’re having some sort of mental breakdown, I’m going to silence this room and keep going on my rounds.” She stated shortly. His jaw dropped. She wasn’t going to report him. “But, I’m also going to offer you something.”

 

“I don’t want  _ anything  _ you have to offer.”

 

“I’m still offering.” She shrugged. “If you need anything, and I mean  _ anything _ , you can ask  _ nicely _ and I’ll assist you. I’ll even take a vow of secrecy.” She smiled at him. “You may be a tosser, Malfoy, but you’re still just a student.”

 

The way she was looking at him, you’d think she was going to spontaneously turn into a chimera and attack him. “You have no idea what you’re offering.” He snapped. “Get the hell out of here before you get yourself hurt.”

 

She grinned at him. “Now  _ why _ would you care about me being hurt? Unless you realize that I’m just as human as you are.” She winked at him. “Have a good night, Malfoy. And do repair the chairs before you leave.” She finished sternly. She practically skipped away, leaving him gaping after her. 

 

As soon as she was done, she made her way to Dumbledore’s office. This is the time that they’d chosen to meet—after her rounds so that she wouldn’t be seen coming and going. There were three people in the classroom who knew what she was up to, unlike Harry. She couldn’t be seen going back and forth from Dumbledore’s office. 

 

“Pixie sticks.” Hermione muttered. Ascending the stairs to Dumbledore’s office. She knocked on the door. “Come in, Miss Granger.” Dumbledore called softly.

 

“Good evening, sir.”

 

“You as well.” He smiled at her. The man before her looked tired. His hand was blacker than the last time she’d seen him, and more withered. For the first time Hermione could remember, he looked stressed. 

 

“We’re almost done translating the ritual. We’ve recruited Pansy Parkinson and Blaise Zabini. Ginny is working on Theodore Nott. I’m working on Draco Malfoy.” She bit her lip. “We think he’s working on something. That Voldemort gave him a mission that will endanger the castle if completed.”

 

“I’m most impressed with the progress you’ve made. And, I’m pleased to tell you that you’re correct. Well, not pleased. But proud.” He told her softly. She would have flushed with pride, but Malfoy had been given an assignment that would endanger other students. “I am going to tell you everything I know, so that you can protect him when the time comes.” He said it so quietly, Hermione had to lean forward to hear him. “Professor Snape has informed me that he’s made an unbreakable vow with Narcissa Malfoy to protect Mr. Malfoy at all costs. In return, she informed him of Mr. Malfoy’s assignment, which is to kill me.”

 

Hermione went white, and there was a buzzing in her ears. She can’t have heard correctly. “What?” 

 

“He has been instructed to kill me, or suffer the death of his mother.” Dumbledore repeated quietly. “He’s made one attempt already, and it was too complex. It fell apart.”

 

“Katie.” Hermione whispered, horrified. Dumbledore nodded gravely. “You can’t let him…”

 

“Oh, I have no intention to let Draco Malfoy kill me.” He assured her. “He’s not a murderer, Miss Granger. You’ve seen how this assignment has affected him. Surely his friends have told you how disturbed he is.” Hermione nodded dumbly. “I am dying anyways.” He admitted. He held his hand out over the desk. Hermione leaned forward to examine it. It was almost shriveled. “I’m sure Harry has told you everything I’ve been teaching him.” She nodded sheepishly. “I found this in the home of Voldemort’s maternal grandfather. It contained a piece of his soul.” He pulled a ring from inside of his desk and placed it in front of her. “He did something similar with the diary that came to Harry through Miss Weasley.” 

 

“A piece of his soul?” Hermione shuddered. 

 

“Truly dark magic.” He nodded. “Unfortunately, I miscalculated the risk associated with the ring, and I put it on. Severus has managed to contain the curse on the ring to my hand, but it is a temporary fix. I will be dead within the year.”

 

“Sir…”

 

“I have already explored all potential fixes, Miss Granger. Including what muggles call amputation.” He stopped her. “Everyone dies, Miss Granger. I have chosen to accept it gracefully, and prevent Mr. Malfoy from becoming an unwilling murderer.” She couldn’t help the tears that fell from the corners of her eyes. 

 

“What are we going to do without you?” She asked somewhat shrilly. 

 

“I’m leaving you with as much information as I can possibly give you, I promise.” He assured her gently. “You’ll be well prepared to move forward after my demise.” 

 

“You’re more than information to us, sir. Harry...he idolizes you.”

 

“That is immensely kind, Miss Granger. But Harry will adjust. You are, after all, giving him back his family.” His eyes twinkled. Hermione shook her head, now completely unable to ebb the flow of tears. 

 

“I can’t keep this from him…”

 

“You must.” He disagreed. “He needs to remain focused.” Hermione knew he was right. “Might I suggest that you use the spell that you used before? I know it’s unfair. But if it makes your objectives easier…”

 

Hermione nodded, knowing she would have to. “Yes, sir.” She choked. 

 

“My dear girl.” He murmured. “If I had ever had children, I would have wished for a daughter like you. Unfailingly kind and impeccably sharp.” Hermione sobbed. “Remember—hope can be found in even the darkest of times, if only one remembers to turn on a light. And you have many lights to choose from.”

 

Hermione only sniffled in response. She idolized Professors McGonagall and Vector, but Professor Dumbledore was on another plane. 

 

She left Professor Dumbledore’s office an hour later, no longer crying but with a dead weight in her chest. They had talked about her recruitment strategy for Draco, and how she would get into the Department of Mysteries undetected to retrieve Sirius. She’d barely held it together. She pressed her hand on her tattoo, asking Pansy and Blaise to meet her at the entrance to the castle in ten minutes.

 

“Granger.” Blaise emerged from the shadows, Pansy following shortly behind.

 

“We need to go to the pit.” She croaked. Her eyes were puffy. 

 

They nodded quickly, exchanging concerned looks. She couldn’t tell Ginny. She didn’t want to chance her finding out what was wrong. 

 

When they arrived, the house was quiet. She presumed everyone was either out or asleep. They moved into the living room quietly. “What’s going on, Granger?” Pansy asked. “Has something happened?”   
  


Hermione couldn’t help it. She started crying again. “I need you to take a memory from me.” She sobbed. “Please.”

 

“What’s wrong?”

 

“I can’t tell you. No one can know.” She hiccuped. Against her better instincts, Pansy placed a hesitant hand on her shoulder. “I’ll get rid of it myself, but I need you to keep it for me until the time is right. The end of the year. You’ll know when.”

 

“What could be so bad? You were just on your rounds, weren’t you?”

 

“I can’t tell you.”

 

“There seems to be a lot of that going around.” Pansy snapped. 

 

“I would tell you, but I can’t risk it getting out.” She insisted. “If Harry found out it would break him. It’s breaking me.” She sobbed. 

 

“Alright.” Blaise murmured, sitting her down on the couch and pulling her face into his chest. He stroked her hair soothingly. “Alright, whatever you need.” Pansy opened her mouth incredulously, but Blaise shot her a venomous glare. She glared back, but stayed silent. 

 

Blaise let her cry into his shirt until she was all cried out. Over the past month, they’d gotten undeniably close, and shared successes and concerns together in their dark corner of the library. He’d seen her at her most vulnerable, even if it wasn’t in person. He’d unwittingly made it his mission to prevent as much pain as he possibly could. 

 

She sat back and pressed her wand to her temple. “Memoria Caveum.” She pulled the dark grey strand from her temple, and it twisted angrily on her wand. She’d noticed that the worse the memory, the darker and more violent the strand. The vial of memory that from the Department of Mysteries had been nearly black, and had bucked wildly against her pull, writhing as though the memory itself were in pain. 

 

She forced the strand into a bottle, and took a deep breath. She was still morose, and her eyes felt swollen, but she didn’t quite know which part of her conversation with Dumbledore had set her off. She handed Blaise the vial, and he tucked it into his robes. “I’ll keep it for you until the time is right.” He promised quietly, wiping the stray tears from her face. Pansy watched them quietly, still stewing in irritation but seeing something new. She wasn’t quite sure, but her friend had become awfully protective of their new friend. And Hermione was a constant enigma, committed to the truth and doing what was right, no matter the personal cost. 

 

“You okay, Granger?” Pansy asked quietly. Hermione nodded. “Good.” She offered softly. Hermione shot her a watery smile. Blaise’s eyes shone with approval. She rolled her eyes. 

 

Hermione relayed everything that had happened that evening, from finding Draco to speaking with Dumbledore. “You offered Draco the same thing you offered us.” Blaise stated simply. The three of them were smushed together on the couch, almost cuddling. Hermione had transfigured their clothes into pajamas. 

 

“Almost.” She agreed. Her throat was raw. “I didn’t offer him the Pit, yet. It didn’t seem like the right time.”

 

“Good move.” Pansy agreed with her. Hermione’s head was resting on her shoulder, and Blaise’s head was rested on her lap. “How did I become the pillow?” She groused.

 

“You sat in the middle.” Hermione chuckled. Pansy pinched her thigh. “Ow!”

 

“Serves you right. Waking me up in the middle in the night then using me as a pillow. I’m nobody’s bitch Granger.”

 

“We should probably head back to the castle.” Blaise groaned.

 

Hermione was quiet. “Granger?” Pansy prodded her. 

 

“We do have rooms here.” She suggested. “We could sleep off the night and go back early.”

 

Ultimately, they agreed.

* * *

 

Blaise was roused by a knock on the door. He looked at the clock on his bedside bearily. It was two in the morning. “Come in?”

 

Hermione pushed open the door. “I can’t sleep. I can’t remember what happened, but I just can’t sleep.” She whispered from the doorway. He motioned her over, and she approached his bed hesitantly.

 

“I don’t bite, Granger. Pansy used to do this with Draco and I when she started having nightmares. Sometime last year. Hop in.” He insisted sternly. She slipped herself under the covers and turned to face him. “Relax. I’m here.”

 

“I know.” She whispered.


	17. Lost Things

December was approaching far faster than she thought it would. The beginning of the year had felt so sluggish that when she realized that it was snowing, she had a mild heart attack. Not for herself, of course, but Hermione was desperately afraid that Harry and Ron would fail their midterm exams, and she only had a month to get them up to speed. 

 

She was hardly sleeping at this point. Between classes, research and training at the Pit (new mandate courtesy of the Strike team), she was almost constantly running on empty. Against her will, Harry had commissioned Dobby to check in on her in regular intervals throughout the school day to make sure she was eating. She had been rather peeved. 

 

She had been more peeved when Harry asked her if she’d discovered anything about Malfoy. In fact, she’d nearly hit him in the head with “Decrypting the Undecryptable”. He hadn’t mentioned it since.

 

Pansy and Blaise were trading off on watching Draco. Ginny was slowly becoming friends with the ever-quiet Theodore Nott (with some help from the very loud Luna Lovegood). There was something between the four of them that had shifted over the past month. For some reason, Pansy and Ginny were never available when Blaise was, so they hadn’t had a cohesive team meeting in weeks. Blaise, of course, was acting completely normal, so she couldn’t quite place what had gone off. 

 

“Morning.” Ginny grunted as she dropped into the seat across from her, still clad from head to toe in Quidditch gear. 

 

“Early practice?” Hermione asked. Ginny grunted again. 

 

“We’ve got the game against Slytherin next week, and Ron  _ sucks _ .” 

 

“He’s not that bad…”

 

“As long as no one’s watching him.” Ginny rolled her eyes. “We can’t ask the stadium to turn their backs when the quaffle is coming down the pitch.”

 

“True enough.” Hermione sighed. “Hey, Blaise and I are going to do some research to try to find the soul-splitting magic Dumbledore told Harry about. Join us?”

 

“Nope.”

 

Hermione whined. “Why are you and Pansy avoiding Blaise?”

 

“We’re not.” Ginny said defensively. “We’re avoiding  _ you and Blaise. _ Together.”

 

“ _ Why? _ ”

 

“Are you two not romancing each other?” Ginny demanded. Hermione’s eyes widened and she sputtered. 

 

“Certainly not!”

 

“She said you two were cuddling in his bed!”

 

“Because I couldn’t sleep!” She whisper-yelled. “There is  _ nothing _ between me and Blaise. At least not on my end.” She insisted hotly.

 

Ginny gave her a doubtful look. “You’re not exactly the most romantically intelligent person, Hermione. Viktor Krum was flexing in front of you for days before the poor sod had the guts to ask you out.”

 

“I was fourteen.” Hermione raised an eyebrow. “Nobody had shown me interest before. I had no idea what to look for.”

 

“Fair. But you two are always holed up in the library together and you  _ cuddled _ .” She paused. “Though I suppose the first could be explained away because you two are such  _ fucking nerds… _ ”

 

“We’re studious. And Blaise is my friend. I had a bad night, and he helped me sleep it off. That’s  _ it. _ ”

 

“Alright.” Ginny said reluctantly. “I’ll take your word for it.”

 

“So you’ll join us?”

 

“Hell no.” She snorted. “I’m not wasting the first snow day cooped up in the library. I’m going to start a snowball fight, and I’m going to play dirty. I’d ask you to join us, but you’re all psycho about your books right now.”

 

“I’m not  _ psycho _ just because I want you to pass.” Hermione snapped. Ginny waved her off, so Hermione ate her breakfast in mildly annoyed silence while Ginny chatted with Parvati about some bit of gossip that was volleying around the castle. 

 

Harry and Ron had come down and sat across from her. She’d mentioned their study schedules, but was interrupted by a silky, well groomed barn owl landing on the table in front of her.

 

“I’ve never seen that owl before.” Ron frowned. “Who is it?”

 

“None of your business.” Hermione told him absently. “Hi, Coolio.” She cooed, stroking his chest. “Bacon?” Coolio hooted softly, preening under Hermione’s attention. Dean barked out a laugh from where he’d sat next to Ginny. Hermione grinned at him. “I didn’t name her.” She promised. She offered her bacon to the beautiful owl and untied the scrap of paper that was wound around her leg. “Thanks. I don’t have anything for you to take back.” With a farewell hoot, Coolio took off with an entire rasher of bacon and Hermione read the scrap of paper. 

 

 _It’s time._ _Tonight at 9._ It read. Hermione’s eyes widened. “Incendio.” She muttered, before standing. “I need to go.”

 

“Who was that from?” Ron asked again. 

 

“Is everything alright?” Harry inquired, shooting an irritated look at Ron. 

 

Hermione ignored Ron and smiled at Harry. “I think…” She exhaled, and the smile broadened to a grin. “I think everything’s great. I just had a major breakthrough in an assignment.” 

 

Ginny was watching her. “You need help?” She offered, eyeing her curiously. 

 

Hermione shook her head. “Research.” To everyone else, it sounded like she was going to go do what she did best. Ginny knew she meant that only the research team was privy to the project. Hermione practically sprinted from the room. 

 

When she got to the library, Blaise was already in their back corner with his books spread out. He, unlike her, was falling behind on his school work in favor of the more interesting research projects that came through the Pit. “Morning Hermione.” He muttered as he sorted out his assignments. 

 

“We’re doing it tonight.” She breathed excitedly. 

 

“Doing what?” He asked absently, barely paying attention. She put her hands on her hips and waited for him to focus on her. “What?” He asked, finally looking up when she didn’t speak. 

 

“We’re meeting the rest of the research team tonight at 9pm.” She told him. “Because it’s time.”

 

His eyes widened. “Me?”

 

She frowned. “What, did you think I’d cut you out after all the work you put in?”   
  


“I still don’t know what the ritual is for.” He shrugged. “I figured it was need-to-know, and that I’d know what happened after it was completed.”

 

“Nope. I want you there. I wouldn’t have gotten it done this fast if it weren’t for you.” She insisted. “You’re coming.” Blaise looked pleased.

 

“Thank you.” He smiled. “Are you sure that’s a good idea though? He knows the other Pit members. He doesn’t know me.”

 

“If the rest of us are there to calm him down, you’ll be fine.” She assured him. “Sirius is remarkable. His ability to listen even when he’s furious or scared is immense. When we first met him, he was going to kill Peter Pettigrew on the spot, but Lupin managed to get through to him incredibly fast.”

 

She slid into the chair he’d reserved for her. “You have any homework?” Blaise asked her. Hermione shook her head. “Want to help me with mine?” 

 

“Sure. What do you need?” They’d already finished their Arithmancy work, and he was more than proficient with Astronomy, Transfiguration and Potions. That left Charms and Defense.

 

“That essay on the origins of the Confundus charm.” He sighed. “I know that he said all the information we needed would be in our books, but  _ honestly _ , how uninterested do you have to be to be satisfied with the textbook information?” 

 

Hermione nodded vigorously, eyes lighting up. “Memory Charms and Curses by Eobard Crawley.” She told him. “Incredible work into the entire world of memory alteration in all of its forms.” 

 

“Do you have a literal library catalog imbedded in your brain?” He joked, standing to peruse the stacks. She crumpled up a piece of parchment and threw it at her head. 

 

Later, when they were about done with their sanctioned schoolwork, someone cleared their throat above them, rousing them from their books. Ginny stood, looking very damp and very sheepish. Blaise’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Joining us?” She nodded, dropping her book bag and summoning a chair. “What changed your mind?”

 

“Snowball fight ended badly.” She grumbled. Hermione raised an eyebrow. “Dean and I had a fight.” She elaborated. “About a  _ snowball fight _ .” She rolled her eyes. “Honestly, for being so emotionally incompetent, men sure are fragile.”

 

“What was the fight about?” Hermione asked sympathetically.

 

“My strategy was too focused on nailing Harry. He was jealous and thought pummeling the Chosen One was symbolic of my desire for him.” She sneered. “I told him he was being stupid, and that Harry just looked the funniest when he got snow under his shirt. The conversation that followed went poorly.”

 

Hermione scowled. Dean had proven to be excessively jealous and zealously clingy. “Maybe it’s time for you to move on.”

 

“Yeah, maybe. But the  _ sex _ , Mione.” She shook her head. “Perfection.”

 

Hermione gave an exasperated sigh, but there was a flush creeping up her neck. “Sex does not a relationship make, Ginevra.” She scolded her younger counterpart. 

 

“Yeah, I know.” She started pulling her books out of her bag. “Still, I wish it did. It would make things so much easier.”

 

“Sounds like it would be easier if Gryffindors didn’t judge their manhood by the besottedness of their women.” Blaise laughed. Hermione and Ginny both laughed along. It was a sad truth, and impeccably well stated. 

 

“At least we don’t suck at Quidditch.” She jabbed back. He looked  _ highly  _ affronted. 

 

“We do not  _ suck _ at Quidditch.” He exclaimed a little too loudly. Hermione immediately scanned the room for Madam Pince’s approach. 

 

“Evidence states different.”

 

“Just because Potter is a magnet for the snitch, does  _ not _ mean we suck.” He huffed. “Especially not with Weasley as your Keeper.”

 

Ginny grimaced. “You’ve got a point there.”

 

“If we manage to score high enough next weekend before Potter can catch the snitch, we’ve got the game in the bag.” He insisted. Ginny looked mulish and downtrodden, unwilling to admit that he was right. But, he was right. And he was a bloody good Chaser, so chances were that he would be the one destroying her brother.

 

“Now I remember why I thought you were contemptible.” Ginny growled toothlessly. “Vain, overconfident, bullying prat.”

 

Blaise just grinned. “Let’s not lose any friendships over Quidditch, yeah?” Hermione chuckled. “But to be fair, Blaise, you are rather vain.”

 

“I’m beautiful.” He shrugged, preening. “And I’m very proud.”

 

They both giggled as he flexed and winked. “As much as I like banter, We really do need to go back to work.” Hermione reminded them. Reluctantly, Blaise and Ginny agreed. Once they had gotten through their schoolwork (with Ginny still trailing behind them due to her late start), they switched their focus to research. At some point, Pansy joined them. As it got darker, Hermione started checking the clock. She was jittery, and unbelievably anxious. She couldn’t figure out if it was nervous-anxious or excited-anxious either.

 

“Merlin, Hermione, what gives?” Ginny snapped. Hermione was jiggling her leg impatiently, and it was shaking the table. She stopped. 

 

“Sorry.” She muttered, throwing her eyes at the clock again. It was 8:30pm. She glanced at Blaise. He was, as always, infuriatingly blank. Inside, he was roiling with excitement. 

 

“I didn’t ask for an apology. I asked,  _ what gives _ ?” She insisted. Hermione bit her lip, but caved. 

 

“You know the gigantic runic translation Blaise and I have been working on?” Ginny and Pansy nodded impatiently. “Well we’ve finished it, and it’s a ritual. Tonight we’re trying it, and if it works it’ll be a huge deal. If it fails, it’ll be a huge fucking let-down.”

 

“What’s the ritual for?” Ginny asked eagerly. 

 

Hermione shook her head. “Can’t tell you. But if it works, you two will be the first to know.” She promised. “I almost wish I didn’t know. I’ll be  _ pissed _ if it doesn’t work.” She sighed. 

 

“We better get going.” Blaise told her. Her heart was racing, but she nodded. They packed up their things and said a brief goodbye to Pansy and Ginny before scurrying off. 

 

Grin, Meridian, and Rhiannon were waiting for them when they arrived. “Right on time.” Grin smiled at them. It didn’t reach her eyes. She was nervous. “We’re just waiting for Anwar and Josh.” She told them. Hermione’s face lapsed into concern. “Nothing to worry about.” She promised. “Just...better safe than sorry.” 

 

They waited in silence. None of them knew quite what to say. When Anwar and Josh showed up, they apologized for being late, but didn’t say much else. Hermione wondered when Grin had read them in. Within minutes, they had apparated away, and were standing in front of the phone booth entrance to the Ministry. 

 

“If you see anyone, you say that we’re here for Amalia to discuss a disagreement about the Statute of Secrecy.” Grin told them quickly. “Hermione, you say that your parents supposedly saw Joshua performing a spell, and demand that he be prosecuted, and the only time Ms. Rosier had to meet was at nine. Amalia will confirm.” She instructed. Hermione nodded quickly, and they entered.

 

Hermione could never get used to how hauntingly empty the Ministry was at night. The fountain in the grand foyer was off, and the place was silent. Their footsteps echoed in the cavernous room. 

 

Silently, they maneuvered through the Ministry, first to the lifts, then through the halls, until they stood in front of the door to the Department of Mysteries. A chill passed over her, and Blaise put a hand on her shoulder. 

 

The Department of Mysteries would always make her nervous. She didn’t like not knowing things, and the entire place was designed to disorient intruders. She couldn’t remember how to get to the Death Chamber. It seemed that Anwar didn’t have that same hangup. “Where did you think I worked during the day?” He asked blandly when she asked how he knew his way around. Her jaw dropped. “For that matter, who do you think gave you the source materials.”

 

“To be fair, I didn’t exactly  _ tell _ her…”Grin mumbled guiltily. Hermione shot her a half-hearted glare. 

 

The last time she stood before the Archway, Harry had insisted that he heard someone whispering from inside the veil. She’d told him he was hearing things. Now, armed with information, she suspected that the whispers were other trapped souls that they wouldn’t be able to help.

 

They set about preparing the cauldrons for the two potions they would need, while Anwar locked the doors and Grin circled the archway, identifying which runic carvings they needed. 

 

Blaise and Hermione worked on one cauldron, and Rhiannon and Meridian worked on the other. They were short brews with complicated movements and incantations and highly volatile components, so they added each ingredient meticulously and silently. When they were done, one potion was clear and watery. Completely odorless. The other was thick and black like molasses, but smelled vile. There was one more ingredient to add to both. 

 

Hermione pulled a hairbrush from her bag. She’d nicked it from Sirius’ room. She pulled two strands from the brush, and handed one to Rhiannon. “On the count of three.” She instructed. Rhiannon nodded. The hairs had to be added at the same time. “One,” they dangled the hair over the potion. “Two,” Hermione’s hand twitched. “Three.” There was a flash of light as the hair hit the surface of the potions. If the potion had worked, both potions would be…“White.” Hermione breathed excitedly, looking at Meridian and Rhiannon. 

 

“White.” They confirmed. 

 

Blaise whooped excitedly and threw his arms around Hermione. 

 

“Halfway there, kids.” Grin bubbled excitedly. “Halfway there.” They each ladled a measure of the syrupy snow-white liquid into tumblers. Hermione handed hers to Grin first. She shook her head. “I think you should do it, Hermione.” Grin told her. Hermione’s jaw dropped. 

 

“What?”

 

“You have a stronger emotional connection to him. You have more to lose if he doesn’t come back.”

 

“That’s bull and you know it.” Hermione argued. “You’re related to him, and he’s an advisor to the Pit. You felt his loss as sharply as I did. You have him tattooed to you!”

 

“You’ve saved him before. You brought him food when he was in need. He relies on you. If he’s suffering, there’s a higher chance that he’ll identify your magic than mine.”

 

Hermione thought through the logic, and reluctantly admitted that she might be right. “If this doesn’t work…”

 

“Then we have enough left over for me to try.” Grin assured her. “But best chance goes first.” She smiled encouragingly. Hermione swallowed thickly. She stepped forward. 

 

“Tell me what to do.”

 

“Your potion included the runespoor fang?” Hermione nodded. “That’s the one you drink.”

 

Hesitantly, Hermione raised the tumbler to her mouth, and choked down the fluid. It tasted like ash and dirt. Hermione opened her mouth to speak, but Grin shook her head. “The next words out of your mouth need to be the incantations.” She instructed. Hermione nodded, clamping her mouth shut. “Take the next tumbler, and pour it over your wand and hand.” Hermione did as she was told. It absorbed into the wood of her wand and into her skin. If she wasn’t mistaken, there was a soft golden glow emanating from her hand. It smelled of roses and grass. 

 

Grin handed her the list of incantations. “I share blood with Sirius, so I’m going to put my blood in the marked runes. As soon as I’m done, recite this. Don’t stop, and stare directly into the veil. Keep repeating it until you see a silhouette. When you see that silhouette, drop your wand and reach your hand through the veil.” Hermione nodded. Quickly, Grin sliced through the tips of her fingers on her left hand, and scurried around the veil to paint the runes red. 

 

“ Si non audiunt me: et ego vocant. Vocat te. Find a voce mihi, et a faciem meam. Ego tua liberazione, et dux tuus. Et beatos vos ac tenebras. Dicam de velo. Veni, inquit, et esse gratis.” She called as soon as Grin had finished. Nothing happened. She repeated herself. Then she repeated herself again. 

 

The room was quiet as they waited with baited breath. Then, her hand started to glow a little brighter.  “ Si non audiunt me: et ego vocant. Vocat te. Find a voce mihi, et a faciem meam. Ego tua liberazione, et dux tuus. Et beatos vos ac tenebras. Dicam de velo. Veni, inquit, et esse gratis.” She continued. Then she saw a shadow behind the veil. It was faint, so she repeated herself. Before she knew it, she could see a full silhouette. She dropped her wand and scurried forward, pushing her hand through the veil. It wasn’t much of a push, really. It was like forcing her hand through thin air. 

 

Her hand was outstretched, but she could barely see it. Just the outline of its glow. She couldn’t feel anything, but she waited, palm outstretched. 

 

The other members of the Pit watched her closely, surrounding her in a small half circle and waiting. Then, she felt it. Someone grabbed her hand, and with all of the energy in her body she grabbed back. She wasn’t going to let go. She looked at Grin, eyes wide, and her friend’s face split into a wide smile.

 

“For god’s sake, Hermione, PULL!” She screeched. Hermione pulled. Her hand pulled back sluggishly, as though something were resisting her. She shot them an alarmed look, and they got the picture fast. Blaise wrapped his arms around her middle, and Grin and Rhiannon wrapped their hands around her forearm and together, they pulled. Anwar and Josh looked on as they made progress, shouting with excitement when Hermione’s hand emerged, entwined with someone else’s. 

 

With an almighty yank, they pulled Hermione all the way back, yanking the other person with her, and they toppled in a pile. Hermione shut her eyes tight as pain ricocheted through her lower back. “Hermione?” A familiar voice groaned. Her eyes snapped open to find Sirius Black lying on top of her. And Grin, Rhiannon and Blaise. With immense effort, they righted themselves. Blaise was sure he had a broken rib from catching Hermione’s elbow in the fall. 

 

“Sirius.” She whispered. She drank in the sight of him. He was still a bit ragged, like he had just been in a fight. His eyes left her and darted around the room, taking in each face.

 

“What happened? Where’s Harry?” He demanded. Hermione’s face split into a grin. 

 

“Harry’s fine. The battle was six months ago. Bellatrix stunned you, and you fell through the veil.” She explained gently. “We thought you were dead.”

 

His lips parted in shock. “How do you lot know each other?” He asked after a long moment. 

 

Grin smiled at him. “Hermione is our new handler. Or co-leader, I suppose. Dumbledore handed us over to her in July.” She explained quietly. 

 

“And that was how long ago?”

 

“Four months.” Hermione answered. Then, unable to contain herself, she tackled him in a fierce hug. “We’ve missed you so much.” She croaked. He wrapped his hands around her. 

 

“How did you know I wasn’t dead?” He asked, still holding Hermione. Grin smiled sheepishly, and lifted her shirt to show him the tattoo. The black dog’s tail was wagging happily against her skin. 

 

“As long as this dog is alive, I’ll know that you are, too.” She said softly. 

 

“Thank you.” He breathed. “Thank you for coming for me.” He hugged Hermione tighter, and she couldn’t help it. She cried. 


	18. Celebration

The Pit was silent. Once again, no one knew what to say. Hermione was staring at Sirius as though blinking would make him disappear. Grin had excused herself (to cry, certainly), and Blaise was staring at him as though he were still a mass murderer. 

 

“Miss Granger?” Dumbledore’s voice called from the hall. “I got your message, and I brought Miss Weasley and Miss Parkinson per your request.”

 

“We’re in the living room, sir!” She called back. A couple people flinched, unaccustomed to the sudden volume. 

 

“What. The  _ FUCK. _ ” Ginny hissed. Her eyes were saucers mounted into her face. Sirius smiled uncomfortably. She whipped her wand out, pointing it at him violently. “Who are you?” She demanded. 

 

“Sirius Black.” He promised. 

 

“Sirius Black is  _ dead. _ ” She growled. Hermione shook her head vehemently. 

 

“This is what we were working on.” Hermione told her gently. “This is what we couldn’t tell you. The ritual was essentially to pull Sirius from limbo.”

 

“That’s  _ necromancy _ , Hermione, are you crazy?” She shrieked, eyes wild. 

 

“It wasn’t necromancy.” Grin said from the kitchen doorway. “He wasn’t dead. He was trapped.” Ginny gaped. Pansy’s eyes were darting around the room, taking in the scene as calmly as she possibly could. 

 

“How did you know he wasn’t dead?” Pansy asked quickly. Grin raised her hand guiltily. 

 

“I have a set of tattoos that tell me when people are in danger or dead. I had one for Sirius, so when Professor Dumbledore told me he was dead, I knew he was wrong.” She explained quickly. Sirius gave her a fond glance before turning wary eyes back to Ginny, whose wand was still raised. 

 

“You’ve known about this the whole time and didn’t tell Harry?” Ginny demanded, turning her fierce glare on Hermione. Hermione swallowed thickly, ready for that barb.

 

“If I had told him, and it hadn’t worked? Do you you honestly think Harry would have been able to lose Sirius twice?” She asked softly. Furious, but convinced, Ginny dropped her wand. “I’m going to tell him as soon as Sirius is healthy again, I promise.”

 

“You’re not going to tell him now?” She hissed. 

 

“No. Telling him before I have a decent cover story could implicate the Pit, and I can’t have that.” Hermione stated firmly. Ginny nodded in understanding, but still looked tensely furious. 

 

“It’s good to see you.” She said after a long, angry moment of stewing. 

 

“It feels like I saw you yesterday.” He admitted. Ginny looked highly uncomfortable at that. “I can’t believe I was gone—presumed dead for  _ months _ .” He breathed. “And I’ve been exonerated.” 

 

Ginny cracked a small smile at that. “Innocent.” She confirmed. “And everyone knows it.”

 

“It’s good to see you, my boy.” Dumbledore smiled fondly. “I’m going to take my leave and let you reacquaint yourself with the Pit. Floo to my office tomorrow morning, and we’ll start the work to get your death certificate overturned.” 

 

“Thank you, Albus.”

 

Sirius was beaming, and it made him look so young and effortless that it nearly broke Hermione’s heart. So much had been taken from this wonderful man, and now he could go on living. “Excuse me. I need to make sure Grin dressed her hand properly.” She muttered, pulling Grin into the kitchen. 

 

As she examined her friend’s fingertips, she could hear the dregs of conversation wafting through the door. Ginny seemed to be filling him in on the events of the past few months. “He knows we’re related, but he doesn’t know who I am.” Grin told her quietly. Hermione glanced up, surprised. “He was in prison when I was disowned. I never signed my name, just in case it was intercepted.” She shrugged. “By the time he was in my life, I was already a different person.”

 

“Are you nervous about telling him?”

 

“Definitely.” 

 

Hermione nodded. Grin’s fingertips were sensitive, but they were healing nicely. “Put some murtlap on those in a few hours. And don’t worry now about what you’ll have to tell him later.” She advised softly. “You saved him.”

 

“ _ You _ saved him.”

 

“I wouldn’t have even known where to start without you.” Hermione insisted. “He was dead until you told me different.”

 

Grin blushed. “I got one for you too, you know. And Pansy and Blaise.” Hermione raised her eyebrows. She tugged down the collar of her shirt on the right side. There, nestled in her collarbone, was a small otter splashing a pansy. Watching them both was a small bear. “Don’t tell him I told you this, but when he was younger, I’d call him Blaisey-bear.” She chuckled. “I’m getting one for Ginny once I figure out what her Patronus is.”

 

“It’s a horse.” Hermione told Grin softly. 

 

“Majestic and obstinate.” Grin mused. “Appropriate.” 

 

Hermione giggled, and felt the tension break. Then, she laughed. Loudly. All of the tension and fear of failure was bleeding out of her and was shoved aside by joy, elation and success. “Fuck, I can’t stop crying!” She exclaimed when tears of happiness. 

 

Watching Hermione bathe in euphoria broke Grin’s heart a little. If they had failed, there would have been a hefty amount of heartbreak to clean up. For both of them. “We did an amazing thing. We got him back. Joy isn’t a bad thing to cry about.” She said softly.

 

“You have any firewhiskey?” Hermione hiccuped. “I think we need to celebrate.”

 

Grin smiled brilliantly. “Now  _ that’s  _ more like it.”

* * *

 

“I felt  _ shooo _ guilty when I thought you died.” Hermione blubbered, sitting next to Sirius and poking him in the chest. They were all definitively drunk. He blinked down at her, bemused. 

 

“Why?  _ You _ didn’t push me through!” He huffed. “Was it Molly?”

 

She shook her head loosely, hair flying everywhere. He spluttered when some fell into her mouth. “I kept  _ lecturing _ you and you were already having such a hard time. And then you just  _ died _ and I couldn’t say sorry.” She blubbered. 

 

“To be fair, he was being a right cock to Kreacher.” Ginny slurred. He flipped her off. Pansy and Blaise watched the whole thing in awe. They’d never seen the Gryffindors drunk, and it was a sight to behold. 

 

“ _ Kreacher _ was a cock to  _ me. _ ” Sirius slurred right back. 

 

“Kreacher was pretty awful.” Grin murmured. Apparently she was a quiet drunk. Her head was propped on Anwar’s shoulder. 

 

“Wants his head mounted in the  _ Ancient and Most Noble House of Black _ .” Sirius barked incredulously. “Honestly, Hermione. Who  _ says _ shit like that?”

 

“He’s a little off.” She admitted blearily. 

 

“I can’t believe you’re not dead.” Ginny declared suddenly, sitting up straight. “Like, really. We mourned you for  _ months _ . Harry about took mum’s head off when she tried to clean out your room.”

 

“Good.” Sirius snorted. “Like I want Molly fucking Weasley poking through my life after I’m gone.” 

 

“Sho invasive.” Hermione agreed drunkenly. “Sho rude.”

 

Blaise noted with significant amusement that Hermione had trouble with S’s when she was wasted. “I’m sure she meant well.”

 

“She didn’t.” Ginny snapped. “By the end she basically hated Sirius. Always yelling at him about treating us like grown-ups. Telling him he was indecent. It’s not Sirius’s fault that Hermione had a crush on him.”

 

Hermione gaped at her friend like she’d been stabbed in the back. “Ginny!” She flushed hotly. 

 

“What! You did!”

 

“You did?” Sirius grinned down at her. “Check me again when you’re legal love.”

 

Grin wrinkled her nose. “Dirty old man.”

 

“Prissy swot.” He fired back. He paused. “I’m not sure, but I’m certain that’s what I used to call Hermione.” He looked down at the wild-haired, blushing brunette. “You been rubbing off on my cousin, Mione?”

 

“Yes.” Marcus and Anwar groused. Pansy cackled.

 

“I wish I knew who you were.” Sirius admitted to Grin. “So I knew which one of them to pummel for making you hide.”

 

“Well Blaise already figured it out once.” Grin snorted. “I’ve been getting sloppy.”

 

Sirius swung his head shakily towards Blaise. “You did?” 

 

Blaise shrugged. “Apparently. Don’t remember though.” He nodded towards Hermione. “She stole the memory from me before I could do anything stupid like break a taboo.”

 

“That’s our genius.” Sirius cooed fondly. Blaise had a startlingly sober moment. The day that Hermione had discovered the spell to save Grin was the day that she was brutally assaulted and Sirius had gone through the veil. The fact that the two of them were cuddling on the couch was alarming. They both should have died that night. 

 

Pansy, on the other hand, was noting with increasing joy that Hermione and Ginny had  _ no _ physical boundaries when they were intoxicated. Ginny was currently playing with her hair, and Hermione was as close to Sirius as she possibly could be without actually sitting on top of him. “Red, if you’re going to insist on using your hands, could you at least make it a shoulder massage instead of a hair-tangling?” Pansy requested. Without even thinking, Ginny’s hands dropped to Pansy’s shoulders. “Excellent.” She mumbled, letting her head drop forward so Ginny could work. 

 

Rhiannon and Adonis were whispering to each other. It looked like a negotiation of some sort. Then, they were making out. “Oi!” Grin barked. “You both have rooms. Try not to use the living room when the minors are here.”

 

Hermione twisted to see what Grin was talking about and blushed violently. Rhiannon and Adonis had decided  _ not _ to listen to her, and the vacuum of air in their lungs seemed to draw their bodies closer together. After her initial shock, Hermione turned back around, slumping back into the couch with her arms crossed and pouting.

 

“What’s wrong?” Sirius asked. Ginny was the only one who wasn’t curious about Hermione’s shift in mood. She knew exactly what was bothering her. It came up every time they got drunk. 

 

“Nothing.” She mumbled petulantly. 

 

“She’s mad that the only kiss she’s ever had was from Krum and that if felt like a pair of flobberworms mating on her face.” Ginny chortled. Hermione took a pillow from the couch and chucked it at the redhead. Unfortunately, Pansy was in front of Ginny, and Hermione’s aim was a little off. 

 

“That’s the beauty of being a Pit member, Hermione.” Grin crooned. “All you have to do is ask. That’s the deal around here.”

 

“While that’s true,” Anwar piped up next to her. “I’d discourage listening to Grin when she uses that tone of voice. Siren voice modulation.”

 

“Oh my god, that’s right!” Hermione jolted forward, nearly cracking Sirius’ jaw with her forhead. “You mentioned that you were part Siren!” Hermione breathed. Ginny rolled her eyes.

 

“Oh Hermione. The only thing that can take her mind off her floundering sex life is her academic career.” Ginny sighed. Marcus guffawed. 

 

“I’ve read about Siren voice modulation, but it’s not very well documented.” Hermione continued as though Ginny were invisible. “There’s more official study on pheromone release. Can you do that too?” Here eyes were wide and sparkling with curiosity. There was a breathless note to her voice. 

 

Grin glanced around the room, and chuckled at what she saw. “I think it’s hilarious that you’re upset that you’ve only been kissed once, but if you look up and learn to take notice of the signs you’d realize you have multiple willing participants.” She winked. Hermione glanced around, and noted that Marcus was staring at her, as was Lawrence. She blushed violently. “But, no. I don’t have that particular ability.” Grin answered. “And voice modulation only works when you’re already aroused. Otherwise, it’s just good for keeping attention. Very useful in business meetings. It encourages a subject’s focus.” The words were clinical, but the tone was throaty—like silk. “I’m doing it now. What do you think.”

 

“Huh?” Hermione asked basking in the pull of her voice.

 

“I think she likes it.” Marcus grunted. “You can stop now.”

 

“Why do you always have to ruin a good thing.” Lawrence complained. Marcus shot him a mild glare, before taking down another shot of firewhiskey. “After I came back from the Bones mission, they were in the hallway and G was naked and Hermione was running her hands all over her…”

 

Blaise had a faraway look in his eyes, picturing the scene she was describing. “I was showing her the tattoo.” Grin sighed exasperatedly. “It wasn’t sexual.”

 

“In my mind, it was totally sexual.” Lawrence flashed her a grin. “I’d give my right arm to have her study me like that.” Hermione was slowly approaching tomato red. 

 

“Like I said, Mione.” Grin gave her a wicked grin. “If you want someone to kiss you, you can fairly literally take your pick.”

 

“I’ll keep that in mind.” She squeaked. She reached out to Marcus, who dutifully handed her the bottle of firewhiskey. She took a long swig. 

 

As the night wore on (and they got steadily more intoxicated), they relaxed more and more. Hermione felt more at ease than she had in years. Sirius regaled them with stories from his time as a Marauder. Grin talked about how she had been Head Girl in her final year, but still found a way to break almost every rule in the book. Hermione told them about each and every out-of-character deed she had done, from setting Snape’s robes on fire in her first year to trapping Rita Skeeter in a jar for four months. Blaise told them that his dream was to play on a Pro Quidditch team, while simultaneously owning his own potions distribution company. Pansy told them as much as she knew about the marriage being arranged behind her back, and Primrose chipped in as much as she knew while relaying her own shitty betrothal. Amalia didn’t speak much, but smiled when Grin laughed, and that was more than enough for Hermione. 

 

Anwar, Josh, Theomer and Lawrence told them about the proverbial billionaire-boys club that their parents insisted they form. The pranks they had pulled on their stuck-up families during stuffy dinner parties. 

 

They had felt like teammates before, but tonight, they felt like family. 

 

Ginny leaned over into Pansy and whispered in her ear while Hermione idly chatted with Marcus. Pansy’s eyes widened dramatically. “Don’t you have a boyfriend?” Pansy whispered back.

 

“I do. But not for much longer. I don’t like being handled outside of the bedroom.” Ginny murmured, letting her hands drop from Pansy’s shoulders to her waist. “Besides, it’s like Grin said. It’s about satisfying needs, not forming attachments.” She nipped the shell of Pansy’s ear, and an involuntary shiver shot through the darker girl’s body. 

 

“You are a menace, Weasley.” Pansy told her quietly, eyes darting around the room. There were three sets of eyes fixed on them, smirks attached. Grin, Blaise and Sirius all seemed to approve. 

 

“A convincing menace, I hope.”

 

“A very convincing menace.” Pansy confirmed. Primrose caught her eye then, and tilted her head towards the stairs. The universal symbol for ‘get a room’. Pansy sighed when Ginny dropped a kiss to her neck. “Let’s take this upstairs.” 

 

Ginny and Pansy left quietly, not making excuses, but not drawing extra attention to themselves either. 

 

Hermione hardly noticed their absence.

 

“You know why no one’s tried to kiss you except Krum?” Marcus asked her suddenly. Sirius watched the interaction with interest. 

 

“Why?”

 

“Because, you’re like rain. Refreshing and healthy most of the time, but sometimes you’re a fucking hurricane. Terrifying. Krum’s a thrill seeker, and I bet you anything he couldn’t help but chase a storm.”

 

“So everyone else is afraid of me, and I’ll be Hurricane Spinster.” Hermione snorted. “Brilliant.”

 

“You’re in a house full of thrill-seekers, Hermione.” Marcus murmured, sliding closer. “And I want to prove to you that it’s everyone else that’s missing out. Not you.” 

 

Sirius, recognizing the effects and potential outcomes of liquid courage, deftly extracted himself from Hermione’s side and retreated across the room to chat with Amalia. 

 

“And how are you going to do that?”

 

He cupped her jaw with his hand, and pressed his lips to hers gently. Hermione was pleased to note that he wasn’t nearly as slobbery as Viktor had been. She relaxed into the kiss, leaning into him and sighing contentedly. He nibbled her bottom lip and stroked her cheek gently, and she responded with a soft moan. He snaked his arm around her waist and drew her closer until she was settled over his lap, and snaked his hand into her hair, drawing her even closer and running his unoccupied hand up her side. She gingerly placed one hand on the nape of his neck and the other on his shoulder, digging her nails in in shock when he slid his hand back down to squeeze her arse. Her lips fell open and she moaned a little louder, eliciting a groan from Marcus, who attacked her mouth with more vigor. 

 

“Fuck.” Blaise gaped, watching Hermione unleash herself on his friend. She was practically purring in his hands, and making these soft little gasps and moans that had every male in the vicinity raring to go. 

 

“Voice modulation indeed.” Grin snorted. Anwar was nibbling on her neck, too. “Why do Slytherin parties always devolve into debauchery?”

 

“Because we know that they’ll be stuffy and boring as soon as we enter polite society.” Anwar chuckled. “Besides, fun can be a good thing.”

 

“Says the least fun man on the planet.” Grin laughed, smacking his chest. 

 

“No hard feelings, Annie.” Joshua dropped into the seat next to them. “I’m the fun one in our menage-a-trois.” He winked. 

 

“You’ll be the dead one if you call me Annie ever again.” Anwar warned mildly. “But yes, I suppose you’re more fun.”

 

“Granger’s a firecracker, huh?” Josh commented casually. The girl in question was devouring Marcus who, although he had initiated the kiss, was now just along for the ride. Lawrence and Blaise were watching her work with unabashed interest, and Sirius (who was still chatting with Amalia about her life) kept shooting proud glances her way. 

 

“A briefcase bomb.” Grin confirmed. “But that was to be expected. She was wound so tight. Hopefully she’ll start letting off steam more often.”

 

“What do those two friends of hers at school  _ do _ to get her so wound up?” Joshua wondered aloud. “Even the most neurotic Ravenclaws aren’t this uptight.”

 

“A tale I’m sure she’ll tell us another time.” Grin smiled fondly. “Today was good, though, don’t you think?”

 

“Casual Saturday. Brought someone back from the dead. Got proper sloshed. Hermione’s getting some action.” Joshua shrugged, jokingly noncommittal. “Good is definitely one word for it.”

 

“Shut up.” Grin shoved him. 

 

Marcus’ hands were under Hermione’s shirt now, and she was moaning and yanking on his hair. Finally, Sirius trotted over and leaned over to whisper in Marcus’ ear. Marcus reluctantly disengaged himself from Hermione’s searching lips to look up at his mentor. Hermione blushed as Sirius spoke to them and hid her face in Marcus’ neck. Marcus nodded when Sirius was done speaking and whispered to Hermione who nodded, blushing hotly. 

 

“Looks like Marc’s taking Hermione upstairs.” Anwar murmured against Grin’s skin. “Shall we follow their excellent example?” He proposed. “Joshua is welcome too, of course.”

 

“Why thank you.” Joshua mocked surprise. He picked up Grin’s legs and slid them over his lap so that she was propped up against Anwar’s torso. 

 

Hermione untangled herself from Marcus as she stood, shivering from the sudden lack of body heat. She bid her teammates goodnight, and Marcus led her upstairs. “You don’t think they’re going to…” Primrose started, concerned for her young, inexperienced friend. 

 

Amalia shook her head. “Marcus wouldn’t do that. Not tonight. Not after what happened to Cal.” 

 

Primrose looked a little ashamed for forgetting. “Where is Cal?”   
  


“She went to bed a few hours ago. Work’s been hitting her hard. Percy Weasley is her boss.” Amalia snorted. “Poncy little git.”

 

“Ouch. Poor Cal. Maybe we should have one of our girl’s nights. That always brings us back into it, right?” Primrose glanced at the stairs. 

 

“Just the three of us?” Amalia raised an eyebrow. “Or are we going to invite the infectious Gryffindors going to be joining us?”

 

“Just us.” Primrose promised. 

  
Amalia grinned widely, and if Hermione had been present, she would have been shocked by it. “Then I’m  _ so _ in.”


	19. Red Alert

Hermione felt odd when she woke up. She was unbelievably comfortable, but she also wondered if the feeling in her head was what Harry felt when Voldemort was near. She was so warm and the bed beneath her was ridiculously soft. She went to turn over, but realized very suddenly that she was secured in place. By arms. Human arms. She took a look over her shoulder to see Marcus’ head resting on the pillow behind her, and she squeaked in alarm. 

 

The evening came crashing back to her in waves. Sirius. Drinks. Celebration. Ginny and Pansy.  _ Ginny and Pansy. _ Marcus. People watching. Kissing Marcus. People watching her kissing Marcus. She let out a groan and buried her face in the pillow. It was enough to rouse her bedfellow. 

 

“Morning.” He murmured, pulling her closer. 

 

“Morning.” She squeaked. He frowned, and released her. 

  
“I’m sorry.” He cleared his throat uncomfortably. “I’ve made you uncomfortable.”

 

“No! No it’s fine. I just...I was so focused on my hangover when I woke up that I temporarily forgot what happened, and this is just so unlike me, so I was surprised. I’m not…”

 

“It’s okay to be uncomfortable and still like something.” He grinned at her, cutting off the flow of her sure-to-be long-winded babbling. She blushed. “And I’m glad you’re okay with it. I’d be honored to be your stress relief, whenever you need it.” He offered, settling himself back into the pillow. 

 

Her eyes swept over him appreciatively. “I think I’d like that.” She smiled, biting her lip nervously. “Despite the headache, I don’t think I’ve ever been this...relaxed.” She settled back into the covers, too. He frowned for a second, before turning away from her to reach into his bedside table. Then, he placed a small vial in her hand. 

 

“Hangover cure. Grin made it.” He told her with a small smile. “I’d prefer it if you  _ just _ felt relaxed after a night with me.” He winked. She blushed, but uncorked the vial and downed it. Seconds later, she was pain-free. She sighed in relief. “Better?”

 

“Much.” She nodded. He snaked an arm around her waist and drew her closer, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of her mouth. She smiled softly and leaned into his touch. “Feels nice.” She whispered, blushing. 

 

“Good.” He whispered back before capturing her lips again. She loved the way he kissed her. It was soft, yet confident and consuming. Her eyes fluttered shut. He pulled back and pressed a kiss to her jaw, then her neck. “Tell me when you need me to stop.” He murmured against her skin. She nodded blankly, enjoying the sensations playing across her skin. He pulled her closer and rolled himself on top of her. She tensed up for a moment. “Nothing you’re not ready for. I promise.” He assured her gently and she nodded, looking up at him through her lashes. He kissed her again, waiting for her to relax. When she did, he slid his knee up to rest between her legs and ran his hand down her side to grip her thigh. She keened softly as she trailed kisses down her neck to rest in the hollow of her throat. He growled when she stranded her fingers in his hair and tugged, attempting to pull him closer. She moaned loudly and ground down on his knee when he bit down on her collarbone in retaliation.

 

Spurred on by the encouragement, he slipped his hands under her shirt and ran his thumbs across the bottom of her bra, moving back up to her lips to bite at her bottom lip. She purred for him and he groaned, pressing his pelvis into hers and hissing when hers jumped up eagerly to meet him. 

 

“You feel amazing, Mione.” He murmured. She felt hot all over, and ridiculously short of breath. His hands were roaming all over her body and anywhere she wished he were kissing, he was miraculously attending to moments later. 

 

They both jolted when someone pounded furiously on the door. “What?” Marcus barked, highly irritated. 

 

“It’s almost  _ noon _ !” Ginny’s voice hollered through the door. “As much as I support Hermione’s sexual awakening, I do  _ not _ fancy the inquisition we’ll get if we’re  _ any later than we already are _ !”

 

Hermione’s eyes widened and she searched the room for a clock. Upon confirmation that it was indeed almost noon, she wiggled out from beneath Marcus and frantically searched for her skirt, shoes and robe. Marcus looked on, clearly dejected. When she’d finally dressed and put her now completely hopeless hair into some semblance of a bun, she scurried back over to the bed and gave Marcus a long, sweet kiss. “To be continued.” She breathed when she pulled back. Marcus threw on a shirt, far more chipper, and practically skipped out to the living room with her. 

 

They walked into the kitchen together to a small sea of silent, smirking faces. “Oh, alright. Let’s have it.” Hermione sighed. 

 

“I’d like to pre-empt any rousting by saying: If you ever feel the need for an additional partner, please put me at the top of your list for consideration.” Lawrence piped up immediately. Hermione bypassed red and blushed nearly purple. “Honestly. Please.”

 

Reluctantly, Blaise raised his hand. “Same.” He muttered. Hermione’s mouth dropped open in surprise. “Oh come on. It’s not that shocking. And it’s not like it’s a romantic thing. You’re my friend. And you’re  _ ridiculously  _ hot.”

 

“You have no idea.” Marcus grinned like the cat that got the canary. Hermione turned and punched him in the shoulder. 

 

“Seriously. Anytime.” Blaise coughed, clearly uncomfortable with discussing it in public, but committed to offering his services. 

 

“Er...thank you?” 

 

“As Marcus’ next-door neighbor,” Theomer chimed in. “Bravo. I will never need another masturbatory aid.”

 

“Gross!” Amalia yelped. “Don’t traumatize the poor girl. Have some class.” She snapped. Theomer didn’t look sorry at all. 

 

“Did you lot already go after Pansy and Weaslette?” Marcus demanded, sensing Hermione’s discomfort. 

 

“Of for like an hour.” Grin assured him, smiling widely. “Not our fault you slept through it.”

 

“And I have nothing to be ashamed of. Miss Weasley is an extremely competent lover.” Pansy sniffed. Ginny flushed, clearly pleased with herself. 

 

“Extremely competent?” Prim snorted. “That’s not what I heard. I heard toe-curling hair-splitting ecstasy, little sister. And I never  _ ever _ want to hear it again.”

 

Hermione grinned at them. She was glad that she wasn’t the only one who abandoned propriety for the evening. “Was that all? I expected much worse.” 

 

“I told them to hold off.” Ginny grinned. Hermione looked at her gratefully. “Oh no. Don’t be grateful. I just told them you’d have enough to deal with once Harry and Ron saw those hickeys.”

 

Hermione’s hands flew to her neck. “What hickeys?” She demanded. She whirled on Marcus. “You left hickeys?”

 

He shrugged apologetically, not sorry at all. “I’m an animal? You bring out the worst in me? Take your pick. But I like the proof that I was there.” He winked. Hermione rolled her eyes. What would they ever do without male ego. 

 

“We better get going.” She told her classmates. Ginny handed her some toast and an apple. They headed for the door. “Wait!” She spun around. “Where’s Sirius? That actually happened, right?”

 

Grin guffawed. “Yeah, it happened. He’s meeting with Dumbledore. It’s almost noon! He couldn’t wait around.”

 

Satisfied, they departed, and Hermione braced herself for the onslaught to come.

* * *

 

They sat down for lunch as though nothing was wrong, but Harry and Ron stared at them almost viciously. “Where have you  _ been _ ?” Ron demanded. Hermione glanced up at them, pretending to be surprised. 

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“We haven’t seen you since yesterday at breakfast.” He snapped. “Where the hell did you two disappear two? We couldn’t even find you on the map!”

 

Hermione instantly regretted giving Harry the map back. “Not that it’s any of your business, but we were in the Room of Requirement.” She hissed. 

 

“Doing what?” 

 

“Believe it or not Ronald, not all of the things in my life pertain to you. You can’t demand information from me, and I’m certainly less inclined to share when you do.” She growled. His eyes fell on her neck, and her stomach sank. She was about to lose the fabricated moral high-ground.

 

“You two…” He pointed between the two of them. “Were in the Room of Requirement when you got those?” He pointed at her neck accusingly. 

 

“Butt out, Ron.” Ginny told him seriously. “It’s none of your business.”

 

“Are you kidding? We were up all night worrying about you and you were out whoring around in the Room of Requirement?” He bellowed. Harry’s jaw dropped.    
  


“Seriously uncalled for, mate.” Harry warned him. “Back off. If she doesn’t want to tell us, it’s her business. I’m just glad you’re okay.” He told her. 

 

“Thanks Harry. We spent the day in the library, and when it closed we went to the Room of Requirement. The rest has to do with my assignment.” Harry nodded, understanding that she couldn’t say more. Ron, on the other hand, scoffed loudly.

 

“So Dumbledore is having you act like a cheap whore?” He sneered. “That’s rich. She’s probably screwing Zabini for information or something.”

 

“Shut it, Ron.” Ginny snapped. Hermione was furious. 

 

“Not until she  _ explains herself! _ ”

 

“I already told you that I’m not explaining myself. You can either butt out and stop insulting me, or you can get out of my life.” She said calmly. “Either way, I’m done being treated like crap every time I step out of the lines that  _ you _ drew.”

 

“I didn’t draw any fucking lines, Hermione! You started  _ lying to us!” _ He shouted. 

 

“And you know why!”

 

“Yeah, because you’re a slut and you don’t give a fuck about me  _ or _ Harry!”

 

That was Hermione’s final straw. She threw her pumpkin juice in his face. “We’re done.” She hissed. “I’ll see you at dinner, Harry.” She smiled sadly at him. He eyes were bouncing between his two best friends, mouth agape in horror. She wrapped a sandwich in a napkin and bolted from the Great Hall. 

 

“Hermione, wait!” Harry hollered after her. She slowed her pace just enough for him to catch up. “You know he didn’t mean it.”

 

“It doesn’t matter. If he can’t treat me with dignity even when he disagrees with me, he’s not worth my time.” Hermione told him. Harry looked miserable, but she could see that he agreed. “I don’t want you to choose. This isn’t a me-or-him situation. But until he grows up, I’m not interested in being his friends. I have plenty of friends who are supportive of me. I don’t need one who isn’t.”

 

Harry nodded. “Am I ever going to know who it is?”

 

“Eventually, I’m sure.” She assured him. “But it’s not serious. It was a heat of the moment thing. I went out on a mission last night, and someone on my team helped me blow off some steam when it was over. It was actually fairly innocent.” 

 

“So you’re working with a team?” Harry asked, interested. Hermione grinned. 

 

“Nice job. Weasling information out of me with genuine concern. Clever.” Hermione chuckled. Harry grinned. “But yes. I’m working with a team. There are around fifteen, with a couple swinging members. I can’t tell you anything else. Not because I don’t trust you—” She said, cutting him off before she could ask. “But because there are some people on my team who would be in real danger if their names got any further than me.”

 

“Ginny knows, doesn’t she?” He asked a little bitterly. 

 

“She does.” Hermione confirmed apologetically. “But because she helped me gather supplies in the initial stages of my assignment. Besides, she’s in a research position now. She’s out of the line of fire. I figured giving her something to do that was important and meaningful would be better than having her pull a Sirius and run into danger at the first opportunity.” She reminded him quietly. “You, on the other hand, don’t have that problem. You’re in the thick of it, and you need to stay focused on what matters.” Reluctantly, Harry nodded again, accepting her decision for what it was. Strategic, just like everything else she did. And, for the record, my team is keeping an eye on the Malfoys. Including Draco.”

 

Harry looked surprised. “You’re still following through on that?”

 

Hermione frowned. “Of course. I said I would.” She huffed, affronted. 

 

“I don’t know. With Zabini and Parkinson around, I kinda thought…” 

 

“I pulled some strings with Professor Slughorn. In exchange for their help and resources in my research, they’re getting extra credit. We’re not friends and we’re not just studying together. And I certainly wouldn’t let them compromise my promises to you.” She told him seriously. Harry perked up a little at that. 

 

“Sorry.” He said sheepishly. “Just so you know, I have your back. And I know you’re in my corner.”

 

“Good.” Hermione smiled. “Now, unless you’d like to study with me, I’d better get going.” Harry blanched. 

 

“I’ll leave you to it, then.” He stuttered. “Later, Mione!”

 

She smiled after him as he high-tailed it out of the hallway. Some things would never change.

* * *

 

“How much did you tell him?” Ginny asked.

 

“Just enough to let him know that we’re okay. That everything isn’t falling apart, and I’m on his side. I’ve been neglecting him a bit.” She admitted. “This week needs to be a little more Harry heavy, I think.”

 

Ginny hummed in agreement. “And I need to break up with Dean.”

 

“For Pansy?”

 

Ginny thought about it for a second. “No. I don’t think I could ever be with Pansy in a satisfactory way, you know?” Hermione nodded. “But last night was an eye opener. I don’t think I have the capacity for an actual relationship right now.”

 

“Very mature.” Hermione congratulated her. 

 

“Besides. The possessive thing is  _ so _ passe.” Ginny grinned. Hermione snorted. 

 

“I don’t know. Might be nice when there isn’t a larger war happening around us.” Hermione laughed. “Someone to fight for you and defend you.”

 

“Oh yes. We’re definitely the knight in shining armour types.” Ginny commented dryly. Hermione giggled. “Honestly, maybe by the end of this all of the potential romantic interests will have grown up enough for relationships to not depend on a power struggle.”

 

Hermione scoffed. “Yeah, sure. I can definitely see your brother growing up enough to not know exactly what his partner is doing at all times.” She said sarcastically. 

 

“We’re talking about Ron, now?” Ginny asked warily.

 

“No. We don’t have to.” 

 

“We can. Do you still like him?” 

 

“I can definitively say no, now.” Hermione muttered waspishly. 

 

“He still likes you. I think it stung that you were with someone else when he’s been holding a candle for you.”

 

“You hold a candle too long and the wax melts and your skin gets burned. He never made a move. Never gave me any indication that he was interested. Was I supposed to wait around forever?” She snapped defensively. Ginny raised her hands in surrender. 

 

“Hey, I’m on your side. I told Ron that if he wanted something to happen, he should make a move. He didn’t and that’s his problem. Not to mention being a complete arse wasn’t helping his case. I can’t believe he called you a slut in the middle of the Great Hall.”

 

“And so  _ loudly _ .” She groaned. “That bullshit’s going to be everywhere by dinner. Remember what happened to Penny Cartwright in your second year?”

 

Penny Cartwright, not to be confused with Penelope Clearwater, was a quiet and unassuming Hufflepuff. She’d been romanced heavily and suddenly by a Slytherin boy (who, for the record, ended up marrying her), and someone had spread the word that she was “spreading her legs for snakes” quickly and virulently. Ginny shuddered. 

 

“That won’t happen, Mione.” Ginny assured her. “Nobody knew Penny before that scandal. Everyone knows you.”

 

“That might make it worse. More fodder.” Hermione scrubbed her face with her hands. “Worse, it’ll put pressure on Pansy and Blaise. I need to get Professor Dumbledore to talk to Professor Slughorn about that complete bullshit lie I pulled out of my ass back there with Harry.”

 

“Why didn’t you tell him that they’d been recruited?” 

 

“He can’t keep secrets from Ron. Ron would flip if he knew I was working with Slytherins. Even if I’m not talking to him, I can’t ask Harry not to. He needs as many people in his corner as possible.” She sighed. 

 

“You’re sighing a lot, Mione.” Ginny observed. “Stress levels up again? Going back tonight for a little more?” She winked. 

 

“There it is. I was wondering how long it would take.” 

 

“I thought I’d give you a bit of time to adjust.” Ginny grinned. 

 

“I want to catch Sirius up. Ask him to help me out.” Hermione said. “If I  _ happen  _ to bump into Marcus, I  _ might _ continue what you interrupted this morning.”

 

“You hussy.” Ginny joked.

* * *

 

By dinner, Hermione was caught up on her school work and Ginny was well on her way. It was weird to not have the research project to turn to. It had become habit. But she’d turned over the research into soul magic to the Pit Research team, and she knew there weren’t any books in the library to address it. At least, not that she’d seen, and she spent more time in the library than Madam Pince herself. And it’s not like she could ask the salty librarian for a book on dark soul magic. Not without being expelled. 

 

At dinner, they quietly discussed how they were going to break the news of Sirius’ return to Harry. Ultimately, that would lie with the Marauder. That didn’t mean they couldn’t make recommendations. The most reasonable time to tell Harry would be at Christmas, which he would be spending with the Order at Grimmauld Place. But did they hide him behind a curtain and then reveal him with a flourish like a muggle magic trick? Or did they make it look casual? Have Harry come into the kitchen while he was eating dinner with Remus like it was just another day? A conundrum. 

 

It felt like a normal, if not slightly secretive dinner. Then, Hermione gasped and grasped her upper arm. Ginny did the same. Alarmed, they stared at each other before standing and sprinting from the hall. Someone was in immediate danger. Blaise and Pansy met them on the edge of the forest. “What’s going on?” Pansy fretted. Hermione shook her head helplessly. She had no idea.

 

“It just started burning.” She whimpered. “No message. Someone’s in danger.”

 

“We can’t apparate yet, so we can’t go straight to them.” Blaise cut through the panic with logic. Hermione nodded.

 

“Back to the Pit then.” She muttered, digging in her pocket for the Portkey. 

 

The house was dark when they landed on the doorstep. Hermione unlocked the door hastily, but there was no one there to receive them. Their tattoos were only growing warmer, and Pansy was about to have a full on panic attack. Hermione pressed her hand to her tattoo, sending a quick, short message to Grin.  _ What’s happening? _ Was all it said. 

 

Instead of a response, fifteen minutes later the Pit erupted with noise as almost every member apparated back at once. “Hermione, upstairs with Lawrence. We need blood replenishing potion, a skin regrowth serum and the bottle of skele-gro we have on the top shelf.” Grin barked out instructions as quickly and clinically as possible, and Hermione suddenly realized why she was the leader. Level head, quick decisions. “Pansy, Blaise, I need you with me and Rhia on healing spells. Ginny, I need you to help Prim and Amalia maintain the stasis charms while we work.”

 

“Who’s injured?” Hermione asked. 

 

“Strike and Cleanup. All of them.” Grin told her shortly. Hermione’s mouth fell open in horror. “You can be concerned later, Hermione. For now we need to  _ work _ . Get it done.” She snapped, and Hermione jumped into action. 

 

As soon as everybody had set out to work, Grin set about transfiguring the couches into cots. “Ginny, we need an extra hand. Call Sirius.”

 

“Where is he?”

 

“Grimmauld Place.” Ginny nodded quickly and ran for the fireplace in the kitchen. Once she had her cots transfigured, she silently worked to levitate the six limp and broken bodies onto their cots. She tried hard not to think about the fact that half of the Pit was currently about to bleed out on their living room floor. 

 

“Salutem Stabilis.” Amalia murmured, tapping the sole of Joshua’s feet with her wand. She repeated the spell on each body. “Five minutes until takedown and reapply.”

 

Grin started with Josh (simply because he was the farthest to the left, and left to right was a necessity to keep her mind in order). She felt her way up his body, flicking minor ‘ _ episky’ _ s to as many fractured or clear snapped bones as she could. 

 

“Refresh.” Amalia called time. Ginny was back now, and they each put up a stasis charm on two people. “Ten minutes.” 

 

The stasis charm in question required a ridiculous amount of concentration. It wasn’t like putting a stasis on food. The stasis spell for humans meant sharing a bit of your life force with the people you were trying to save. That could only be extended for so long. Grin worked as quickly as possible. 

 

“Blood replenisher up!” Hermione called, bounding into the living room with a covered cauldron. “Skin regrowth timed for twenty more minutes. There’s only one dose of Skele-gro.” She recounted swiftly. Grin swore, and Hermione scurried back up the stairs. 

 

“Fuck, I need that Skele-gro.” Grin moaned. “ _ Episky. Episky. _ ”

 

“Refresh.” Amalia called again. “Why can’t we use the mending spells?”

 

“Festucarium.” Grin grimaced. Amalia let out a small gasp. 

 

“Pomfrey keeps a healthy supply of Skele-gro. Reset.” Amalia instructed. They cast the stasis charms again. 

 

Blaise helped Grin rush through as many small injuries as he could. “I’m going back to Hogwarts. I’ll get Skele-gro out of the hospital wing.” Pansy offered shakily. 

 

“Good. Do it.” Grin nodded curtly, and Pansy was off. 

 

“Refresh.” Amalia took down her stasis charm. “I still don’t get how this happened.” She demanded. 

 

“They were after Dolohov on faulty information.” Grin glanced at Amalia. 

 

“My information?” She whispered, horrified. 

 

“Not your fault, Lia. No time for guilt, we can figure out what went wrong later.” Grin insisted. “Keep your head in the game.”

 

“Reset.” Amalia said, schooling herself into concentrated determination. Hermione hurtled back into the room with the second cauldron. 

 

“Skin regrowth.” She said. 

 

“Start administering the blood replenisher, left to right. Dosage based on skin pallor, no more than three tablespoons per person. Got it?” Grin asked sharply. Hermione nodded hurriedly and filled a flask with the thick, metallic potion, moving to Josh first. He seemed to be the least injured of the lot, and he looked terrible. 

 

“What happened?” Sirius asked desperately, rushing into the room with Ginny. 

 

“Please help us determine which curses were used on who.” Grin instructed, ignoring his question. “Write it on a card and place it on their table. After curses are identified, start working on reversing the ones that are still active.”

 

Sirius nodded, a little irked that he hadn’t been answered, but ready to work. “Which way are we working?”

 

“Left to right. Starting with Joshua, ending with Cal.” Grin told him. “Pay extra attention to Marcus, please.”

 

“What? Why?” Hermione demanded, whirling around to look at Marcus.

 

“No, Hermione,  _ focus!”  _ Grin snapped. But Hermione, who had been looking at them one injury at a time, suddenly saw Marcus as a whole. His face was nearly unrecognizable, covered in lacerations. The skin that wasn’t broken was deathly pale. His cot was soaking through with blood. “Hermione, please.” Grin begged. Hermione nodded quickly and turned back to the task at hand, but her heart had dropped into her stomach and her heart was pounding. 

 

“Look at the individual injuries, Hermione.” Sirius reminded her. “It’s a practical exam.”

 

Hermione could work with that. She squared her shoulders and pushed their faces out of her mind. These weren’t friends. They were bodies. 

 

“Refresh.”

 

“Done with first round of blood replenisher.”

 

“Start with skin regrowth, three drops minimum, seven drops maximum per laceration based on size.” Grin instructed. 

 

“Got it.” Hermione immediately went back for the skin regrowth solution and pulled a dropper-stopper from her bag. 

 

Joshua had a massive gash across his jaw, and the potion sizzled and steamed inside his wound. There was a foul odor—similar to plastic burning, Hermione realized. Her gut churned in disgust. “Is that odor normal?”

 

“Unfortunately, yes.” Rhiannon replied distractedly. 

 

Hermione nodded and returned to her task, pleased to note that despite the appearance and smell, the solution already appeared to be working. She moved down his body, ending at a gash in the back of his thigh.

 

She had managed to force herself back into clinical-mode by the time she reached Marcus. His face looked like it had been clawed apart. She started at his hairline and worked her way down his face in rows, taking a cloth to dab away blood. As she dapped, she uncovered more wounds. 

 

“I’ve got the Skele-gro.” Pansy bounded back into the room. 

 

“Sirius, tell Pans who’s gotten a Festucarium curse.” 

 

“Don has one for sure.” Sirius called out to her. “Entire right arm and collarbone is completely shattered.” Hermione’s stomach turned again. “I think Cal does, too, but I can’t be sure. I think it’s her sternum, but if I compress it to check, the bone shards could nick something important.”

 

“I’ll start with them.” Pansy nodded. 

 

Marcus’ face already looked better. Not great, but certainly better. She completed his neck, arms and torso quickly and clinically, moving swiftly and silently to his legs and feet. “Marcus needs Skele-gro. His feet and tibia are shattered.” Hermione called to Pansy. 

 

“Refresh.” Amalia called again. She sounded drained now. Ginny and Primrose looked drained too. 

 

“Hang in there you three.” Grin told them. “This should be the last one.”

 

Amalia nodded curtly. Hermione flew through her last three patients before helping Sirius pinpoint and resolve each of the lingering curses that were crosshatching her teammates. 

 

“Refresh.” Amalia groaned. 

 

“I think we’re far enough that we can move forward without stasis, Lia. I’ll let you know if that changes. Go see Lawrence for a pepper-up.” Grin instructed. “All of you.”

 

The three women departed, leaving Grin, Rhiannon, Pansy, Blaise, Sirius and Hermione to labor through as many fixes as possible. 

 

“What the hell happened?” Sirius groaned when they finally finished, slumping back into the couch. 

 

“I only know what mission they were on, not what happened when they got there.” Grin told him. “The tattoo burned and I just...had to go.”

 

Sirius’ eyes snapped to her, narrow and furious. “What tattoo?” He snarled. Grin rolled her eyes. 

 

“Calm down. It was Hermione’s idea. We got Protean Tattoos to help us communicate more efficiently than Patronuses that only half of us can actually perform.” She pushed up the sleeve of her shirt to show him. He stood and strode towards her, grabbing her arm to examine it. 

 

“What does it do.” He asked, his voice low and dangerous.

 

“Hey, this tattoo is Hermione tested and Dumbledore approved.” Grin snapped. “It binds us together, heats up when we’re in danger and lets us send short verbal messages. It’s not a Dark Mark, Sirius, so unbunch your panties and get off your high horse.” She yanked her arm back. 

 

“Dumbledore approved this?” 

 

“Of course he did!” Hermione cried. “Did you think I would perform such complex and binding magic for the first time without  _ any _ supervision? It’s like you don’t know me at all!” Sirius looked appropriately shamefaced. “If you’re quite done besmirching my good name, I’d like to try waking one of them up.” 

 

“Hermione, I didn’t mean…”

 

“You meant that I’m a child and therefore lack foresight, Sirius Black.” She dismissed him. “And I don’t care. I care about the six teammates who were probably saved because my tattoos gave the rest of the team time to get to them.” She said coolly. 

 

“We can start with Anwar, I think.” Grin told her. “He looks like he’s the most stable, and we seem to have gotten most of his injuries.” Now that the carnage had been dealt with, the methodical research mind would take over for the tactical mind. 

 

“ _ Ennervate. _ ” Hermione said, touching her wand to Anwar’s forehead. Most of the time, when a person woke up with an Ennervate, it was a gentle rousing. Anwar took his time, but when he opened his eyes, he shot into a sitting position and immediately crumpled in on himself, body wracked with pain. “Hey, take it easy!” Hermione cried. 

 

Anwar’s eyes darted frantically around the house. “We’re home?” He asked uncertainly. His shoulders relaxed slightly as he took in the familiar landmarks of the Pit. The piano. The  _ television _ . The people. The cots and their bodies. “We’re home.”

 

“What happened?” Grin asked softly. “When we got there you lot were already down.”

 

Anwar nodded, dragging a hand through his hair (with considerable difficulty considering his broken ribs). “We were going after our target. Everything was going fine. He was supposed to be travelling with two middle-ringers who were lower priority.” He recounted, squinting as he racked his brain. He noted absently that his head hurt. 

 

“Who was the target?” Sirius demanded. 

 

“Dolohov.” Grin answered for Anwar, who was now running his fingers over the sore spot on his head. Sirius growled low in his chest, and Hermione jolted in discomfort, hand unconsciously fluttering to the scar on her chest. Blaise shifted uncomfortably and shot a look at Pansy. “We were after him, Gibbon and Jugson. We followed them all the way to Somerset, and then things went south. We were ambushed by ten more, I think, so we ended up thirteen on six. Dolohov is a nightmare on his own, but we were met by Thorfinn, the Lestrange trio, Macnair, Mulciber, Rookwood and a couple others I hadn’t seen before.” 

 

Hermione was deathly pale now. The Death Eaters hadn’t pulled any punches and had sent out their top mercenaries. They’d been out for blood. 

 

“I am so sorry.” A horrified whisper came from the corner. All eyes turned to the stair, where Amalia stood on the bottom step, flanked closely by Lawrence, Primrose and Ginny. Her face was white. “Anwar…”

 

“Lia…” Grin moved to comfort her.

 

“Don’t!” She shrieked. “Look at what I did to them!” She cried. Once the first tear slipped out, it seemed a dam broke in her tear ducts. “Anwar, I’m so sorry. I should have checked to make sure it wasn’t a false lead…”

 

“Lia, this isn’t your fault.” Anwar insisted. Hermione started. It was the first outwardly empathetic moment she’d seen for Anwar. “This one was personal. I could have been more careful. I’m more worried about Don.” He glanced over at Adonis. “All of his injuries came from Thorfinn.” Grin grimaced, but Amalia was shaking her head.

 

“I  _ heard them say _ that they were going after a family near Wiltshire today.” Amalia whimpered. “I don’t get how they knew you would be there.”

 

Grin stilled. “Were you alone, Lia?” Amalia looked at her, confused, but nodded. “Shit. I think you’ve been burned.” She sighed.

 

“They didn’t see me.” Amalia insisted. “They can’t have known I was there. I was there as a bat, for fuck’s sake.”

 

Hermione’s jaw dropped. Amalia was an unregistered animagus. “What about legilimency? Is anyone you’ve been in contact with a proficient legilimens?” Grin asked tiredly. 

 

“Nobody who’s got the ability to get past my Occlumency.” She sobbed. She crumpled onto the couch. 

 

Grin sat next to her. “We take hits, and we get back up.  _ You _ told me that.” 

 

“You didn’t get six people caught in crossfire with faulty information.” Amalia wailed. “You just wrote to your brother. If I’ve been burned, I’m no use. And what if Marcus and Don don’t wake up?”

 

“Marcus and Don will be fine.” Hermione told her firmly. “We’ve gotten the worst of it, and they’re healing up.”

 

“Because of you.” Amalia looked up at her, face tracked with tears and eyes rimmed red. “I put them in danger, and you got them home safe.”


	20. Progress

It took weeks for Amalia to get out of her funk. It also took weeks for Marcus and Adonis to wake up. There was a curse on Marcus that was impossibly hard to detect. After two full weeks, Sirius had identified it as  _ Pectoreo Premotum,  _ the heart-crushing curse. The only way he’d managed to identify it was that the tips of his extremities periodically turned blue. It turned out, even though it was called the heart-crushing curse, it also caused arterial seizures and muscle deterioration. As a muggleborn, Hermione knew that meant that his brain was deprived of oxygen and his body was deteriorating rapidly. 

 

Adonis had been hit with a curse of his cousin’s own design. When Hermione heard it, she was reminded of Snow White and Sleeping Beauty. He was trapped in his mind in an unending nightmare, and that nightmare turned out to have real physical effects, such as massive internal bleeding and cruciatus-like muscle spasms. Because it wasn’t a Ministry-sanctioned spell, it took an infuriatingly long time to sort him out. 

 

The research team had been bogged down, both trying to find a cure and (with new information from Dumbledore via Harry via Hermione) researching Horcruxes. 

 

Back at school, the four students strove to pretend that everything was okay. Of course when they’d gotten back, Harry and Ron had given them a thorough interrogation, asking them why they’d rushed off like that. Pansy and Blaise got a similar grilling from Draco. When they told her about said inquisition, Hermione was struck with guilt. She’d barely seen Malfoy in weeks, and she was letting Grin and Dumbledore down. Pansy and Blaise had assured her that it wasn’t her fault—and that Draco had been conspicuously absent from their daily routines as well. 

 

They were now only days away from Christmas, and Hermione was hiding from anyone as she re-read every inch of her notes and textbooks before her end-of-term exams. She was alone in her special corner of the library, and buried under a mountain of books.

 

“Granger.” Malfoy’s voice greeted her coolly. She jumped about a mile. 

 

“Morgana’s saggy tits, Malfoy, what are you  _ doing _ sneaking up on people like that?” She hissed, clutching at her chest where her heart was jumping out of her chest. 

 

“It’s the library. I thought you’d appreciate the quiet.” He smirked, but it didn’t reach his eyes. For the first time, Hermione realized how  _ terrible _ he looked. His already pale skin was bordering on sallow, and there were dark circles under his eyes that made it look like he’d been punched and was now trying to cover it up with muggle makeup. His eyes were even a little bloodshot. He was thinner. He was a mess.

 

“There’s a difference between quiet and ghostly.” She grumbled. “Can I help you with something?”

 

“You offered your help.” He shrugged. “Since you’re the biggest bookworm ever to crawl out of the dirt,” Hermione bristled slightly at the comment. “I was wondering if you’d seen any useful books on transportation spells besides apparation and portkeys.”

 

“Many. You’re going to have to narrow it down.” She sighed. 

 

Draco squinted at her suspiciously, emphasizing the bags under his eyes. “Fine. I’m trying to repair a vanishing cabinet.”

 

Hermione frowned. “Those aren’t transportation.” She protested, confused. 

 

Draco smiled sardonically. “Is there actually something I know that you don’t? That’d be an unfortunate first.”

 

“Just tell me. I have things to study.” She snapped.

 

“In the first war, Vanishing Cabinets were used as a method of escape.” He explained slowly. “If your wards went off, you could hop into a cabinet and it would transport you to its twin in a different location.”

 

Hermione’s mouth parted in a wonder. “Really? That’s brilliant!”

 

“Yeah. But they’re finicky as hell. They damage easily, and they’re tough to repair. Hence…”

 

“Why you’re looking for ways to repair it. For your mother.” She raised her eyebrows, remembering that he’d told Slughorn that he wanted to repair her favorite piece of furniture. 

 

“You said you wouldn’t pry.”

 

“Ha!” She exclaimed. “I’m not that stupid. I said I’d assist you if you asked nicely, and I’d keep it to myself. I  _ never _ said I wouldn’t pry. That goes against the whole taking-care-of-my-peers element to what I’m trying to do.” She grinned. “I couldn’t in good conscience help you blindly without trying to improve your conditions because frankly, Malfoy, you look like shit.”

 

He blinked owlishly at her. “Fine. The bloody cabinet isn’t for my mother.”

 

“Where’s the twin?”

 

“I can’t tell you that.”

 

Hermione raised an eyebrow. “Can’t? Or won’t?”

 

“Both. I may not like you Granger, but I know you. Well enough to know that giving you too many details is essentially hanging my own noose.” He sighed. 

 

“Aw, Malfoy.” She smiled a mockingly fond smile. “I do believe that was a compliment. You’ll make me blush.”

 

“Stuff it.”

 

“Rude.” Hermione huffed. “I know what books you need, but because you were rude, I’m putting conditions on my information.”

 

Draco groaned. “You are insufferable. What conditions?”

 

Hermione smiled mischievously. “A week. Seven consecutive days. In that week, I want you to sleep normal hours—that’s eight hours a night—eat three meals a day, and I also want you to groom yourself like the snotty little pureblood you are. Zabini and Parkinson would probably be  _ thrilled _ to keep an eye on you.”

 

His jaw dropped.  _ Those were her conditions? _ “What is your  _ angle? _ ” He breathed, flabbergasted. “I have never met a person whose motives I don’t understand. I’m asking you for help with something you  _ know _ goes against your moral compass, and the price for help is that I  _ take care of myself? _ ” He threw his hands up, disgusted, turned on his heels and stormed away, muttering furiously under his breath. “RIDICULOUS!” He shouted as he slammed the doors to the library. Hermione giggled as his furiously perplexed voice rang through the library. 

 

Ginny approached her warily a few moments later. “What the  _ hell _ did you do to Malfoy?” Hermione told her, smile getting wider as she fondly recalled each flustered moment. Ginny was giggling too, by the end. “Who knew it just took a little TLC to make the Slytherins flustered. If I’d known, I would have tried it years ago.”

 

“You and me both.” Hermione chuckled. 

 

“Christmas is coming.” Ginny murmured. 

 

“Yeah, I’ve been thinking about that.” Hermione snapped her book shut abruptly, turning to her redheaded friend. “I was thinking that maybe I’ll spend the first week or so at the Pit and join you lot for Christmas day. That way, Harry can readjust to you-know-who at his own pace and I can escape his fiery wrath and help get the team reset.”

 

“So...you’re running away as productively as possible.” Ginny sorted out. Hermione nodded curtly. “If you think that’s best. And the Pit definitely needs sorting.” She sighed. 

 

“Amalia hasn’t left the house in weeks, and Marcus is finally starting to regain mobility. We need to figure out if Amalia’s been burned and I need to figure out why Dolohov was a high enough priority to warrant a full strike.”

 

Ginny grimaced. “I’d be more worried about changing their focus. It seems like they’re hoping to go more offensive than defensive, and it went disastrously. It felt poorly planned.”

 

“Not that it was Amalia’s fault, but she had bad information. It all starts there.” Hermione sighed. “If the espionage team’s been burned, we’re essentially useless.”

 

“Prim’s intact.” Ginny disagreed. Hermione raised an eyebrow. 

 

“Since when do you call her Prim?”

 

Ginny shrugged. “Primrose just sounds so...not stuffy, but inaccurate, I guess.”

 

Hermione snorted. “Anyways, I think I’d be more useful there. Not like your mum wants me around anyways.” She muttered bitterly.

 

“Good thing it’s not my mum’s house.” Ginny reminded her. Hermione smiled, taking a moment to revel once again in the fact that Sirius was alive and strong.

* * *

 

“How is she in Gryffindor? That was a stroke of Slytherin genius.” Pansy grumbled. They were in the Slytherin common room, reading through their course texts somewhat distractedly. Only an hour earlier Draco had stormed in, cursing under his breath almost comically. Once he’d settled a bit, he recounted Hermione’s requirements to them, and Blaise had doubled over laughing.

 

“It’s not  _ funny _ , Blaise.” He snarled. “She’s trying to get into my head.”

 

“It’s working!” He cackled. “And I don’t even think that’s what she’s trying to do!”

 

“Nobody is that altruistic.” He groused. 

 

“Granger might be.” Pansy admitted lightly, shooting Blaise an irritated glance as he continued to suffocate on his own laughter. “I’ll fulfill my part of Granger’s request if you’d like me to. That’s about as close as you’ve let us get in months.” There was an undercurrent of bitterness that Draco was hard-pressed to ignore. 

 

“Pans, I don’t even want to be a part of this. Why would I drag you into it?  _ Especially _ when I’ve been instructed to do it alone?”

 

“Because Draco,” She snapped, eyes filling with fire. “You’re  _ not _ alone. Whether you actively include us or not, we’re still in this with you because we care about you, you absolute cock. Do you think, in  _ any _ scenario, we would willingly throw ourselves into danger? We only stand up for family and YOU, Draco Malfoy, are family to me.” She snarled. “I wish I could turn that off, but  _ dammit _ even though you’re infuriatingly dense, you’re still the closest thing I’ve ever had to a brother. You, Blaise and Prim.” 

 

Draco looked appropriately taken aback. “I didn’t know you felt that way.”

 

“Because we’re Slytherins, Draco! We don’t talk about our  _ feelings _ , we’re not Hufflepuffs! But you are such a thickheaded mulish clod that I don’t know how else to get it through your dense skull!” She shrieked. Draco cowed away, eyes wide. Blaise, who found this all terribly amusing, only laughed harder. 

 

“Yeah, I care about you too! That’s why I’m trying to keep you  _ safe _ !”

 

“It’s too late for that!” She yelled. “I’m already in this shit up to my fucking eyeballs!”

 

Blaise sobered up immediately. “Pans! Don’t.” And she clammed up. Draco’s eyes narrowed flicking between his two best friends. 

 

“What are you two keeping from me?” 

 

“Quid pro quo.” Pansy replied coolly, reigning in her ire. Draco glared at her mulishly. “If you want to know what we’re doing, you have to tell us what you’re doing. You know us, we’re not going to report you, but for fucks sake, maybe we can help you escape the fallout.”

 

“Just the part I need Granger’s help with.” He half-conceded. Pany nodded. “I’m fixing the Vanishing Cabinet that Montague got stuck in last year.”

 

Pansy frowned. Vanishing cabinets didn’t just vanish their contents. “What are you trying to transport?” She asked. Draco looked down. “Who. Who are you trying to transport? And where’s the twin?”

 

“Merlin, Draco you can’t be serious.” Blaise groaned, dropping his head into his hands.

 

“I have to. He’s living in my house. He has my mum.” Draco whispered. 

 

“You can’t let Death Eaters into the castle, Draco. There are  _ children  _ here.”

 

“We’re children, Pans.” He sighed. “Technically speaking, anyways.”

 

“That’s only one part of your mission?” Blaise asked, voice tired yet incredulous. “What’s the other part?”

 

“It’s worse.” Draco shook his head, pale and full of regret. 

 

“You don’t have to do this. We have an alternative, you just have to be open to it.” Pansy insisted. 

 

“Is this what you’ve been doing with Granger?”

 

Reluctantly, Blaise nodded. “She offered us a sort of out, and we took it.” He admitted. “And it’s a good option. I’m certain we’d be able to get your mum out, too.” 

 

“Just tell me what it is, Blaise.” 

 

“You have to swear to keep it to yourself. Fully occluded.” Blaise told him. Draco nodded.

 

“What do you want, an unbreakable vow?” He groaned. “Just tell me! I’ll decide if it’s a viable option.”

 

“How about this, if you decide not to go with it now, we’ll take the specific details and leave him with the overall knowledge that he has a backup option.” Pansy suggested, trying to address Blaise’s concern. 

 

“That’s not how memory charms work, Pans.” Draco rolled his eyes. He was getting impatient. 

 

“We won’t be obliviating you.” Pansy told him. A lightbulb went off in Draco’s head. 

 

“That research project of Granger’s. She figured it out.” He breathed. “Didn’t she?”

 

“She did.” Pansy gave Blaise a sidelong glance. 

 

“Yeah, then fine. I’ll agree to that.”

 

Blaise cleared his throat. “You’ve heard of the Order of the Phoenix?” Draco nodded. “Six years ago, Dumbledore founded a secret faction.”

 

“The Dark Lord was dead six years ago.” Draco said blankly. 

 

“His Death Eaters weren’t. They were still causing panic at every opportunity. Torturing muggles, killing muggleborns and the like. Anyways, he founded it because he was approached by three Slytherin seventh years who didn’t agree with their parents ideology. This secret faction is made up entirely of Slytherins from prominent pureblood families. Well...almost entirely.”

 

“What does Granger have to do with it?”

 

“She’s our co-leader.” Pansy told him. “The founder is the other. Dumbledore handed control to her at the beginning of the year, and she’s a fully integrated member of the faction, and our liaison with the Order. She mostly works with the research team, but she collects status reports and mission rundowns from every team, and helps with each as she can.”

 

“She helps us communicate with each other and makes sure we can get out of tight spots.” Blaise added. “She keeps our safety as a top priority.”

 

“A secret faction of Slytherins working against the Dark Lord under the command of Hermione Granger.” Draco summed up dully. He dropped into a seat. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

 

“Nope.” Pansy shook her head, popping the ‘p’. “Totally serious.”

 

They watched him in silent anticipation while he chewed through what they’d told him. “I have to think about it.” He told them. “In the meantime, I’m going with Granger’s ultimatum. Please tell her that I’ve been eating and sleeping.”

 

“Only if you actually eat and sleep.” Pansy snarked. He flipped her off before disappearing. 

 

Now, an hour later, they were marvelling over Hermione’s manipulative ability. “She should have been a Slytherin.” Pansy sighed. “She’s wasted in Gryffindor.”

* * *

 

In the following week, Hermione was pleased to note that Malfoy was regularly appearing at breakfast. Unfortunately, Blaise reported that Malfoy’s sleeping habits were remaining questionable at best, and he regularly woke up every two hours. 

 

They were now on the train, heading home for the holidays. Harry had tried in vain to convince her to come with them. When she had refused, he told them that he’d heard Snape arguing with Draco on the night of Slughorn’s party. Apparently, Snape had made an unbreakable vow with Draco’s mother. Something about protecting Draco and helping him with his mission. 

 

“An unbreakable vow? Nah, he can’t have...are you sure?” Ron asked. 

 

“Yes, I’m sure. What happens if you break it?” 

 

“You die.” Ron and Hermione replied in tandem. Hermione shot him a sour look and clamped her mouth shut. 

 

“Oh. That’s...well. Not that original, but effective.” Harry muttered. Hermione raised an eyebrow. 

 

“What did you think it would do? An endless tickling charm? Turn your hair blue?” Hermione snorted. “Unbreakable Vows are the strongest bonding magic that’s still legal. Everything stronger is markedly illegal and would certainly result in Azkaban.” 

 

“They’re up to something bad.” Harry told them seriously. Hermione groaned, letting her head crash back against the seat cushion. “I mean it!”

 

“Harry, we know you think Malfoy’s up to something, and  _ he might be _ , but Snape would definitely not be in it with him. He was probably lying to gain Malfoy’s trust.” Hermione explained as though she were talking to a toddler.

 

“Hermione…”

 

“Stop it, Harry. You might not like Professor Snape, god knows I don’t, but Dumbledore trusts him. So really, it comes down to whether you trust Dumbledore.” She raised her eyebrow expectantly, waiting for the answer she knew was coming.

 

“Even Dumbledore is wrong sometimes, Hermione. He said so himself.” 

 

“Yeah, but it’s not often.” She argued. “Snape is loyal to Dumbledore. I’m going to believe that until there’s definitive proof that he’s not.”

 

“Why do you always defend him? He’s a slimy git, and you have your nose so far up his arse you could probably see his ribcage.” Ron snapped.

 

“I’m not defending him. I’m defending Dumbledore and his ability to choose allies. Get this right, Ronald, I hate that man. I think he’s vile and cruel. I’m not sure why bee had the guts to crawl up his rectum and sting him in the prostate, but Severus Snape is a miserable human. He’s Neville’s boggart, for fuck’s sake.  _ Never _ suggest that I’d side with that man over Harry.” She growled.

 

Ron stared her down mulishly, but she’d already lost interest. Harry seemed satisfied, if not slightly disappointed that his bandwagon had been unhitched. 

 

Once they got to Platform 9¾, Hermione bid Harry and Ginny adieu. “See you both in a week.” She smiled. Molly and Arthur were off to the side, looking grim. Hermione burned with a malicious sort of satisfaction knowing that Molly Weasley would have to break it to Harry that his godfather wasn’t dead. 

 

She waited until they were gone to portkey to the Pit. 


	21. Holiday Cheer

Arthur seemed to have procured a towncar for them to take to Grimmauld place. He and Molly were strangely silent on the drive, only carrying conversation long enough to hear about their school terms. Molly seemed to be exceptionally distressed. 

 

“Is everything okay, Mrs. Weasley?” Harry asked, concerned.

 

“Just fine, Harry dear.” She smiled tightly. “We’ve had a few surprises over the past month. You’ll see when we get here.” She tried in vain to keep her tone airy, but she was speaking through gritted teeth. Ginny forced down a snicker, and Harry gave the back of her head a thorough dubious stare. 

 

Mrs. Weasley devolved into full on teeth-grinding as they pulled up to Grimmauld Place. “Harry, I have to warn you…”

 

“Not in the open, Arthur.” Molly growled.

 

“I was just going to say...there’s something inside that will be a touch alarming.” He warned nervously. Harry’s stomach flip-flopped and churned with anxiety, dreading his walk up to the door. 

 

When Molly swung the door open, and they’d tiptoed past the late Mrs. Black and into the living room. Molly stood in the middle of the living room, wringing her hands nervously. Arthur just looked cautiously happy, as though waiting for a reaction from him. He glanced around the room, trying to find what had made them anxious. There was nothing. “Okay, seriously, what’s going on?”

 

“Molly, could you fetch him from the kitchen?” Arthur asked. She whirled on her husband, face contorted in outrage, but at the pleading look on his face, she deflated and stomped into the kitchen. “Harry, I promise it’s really him.”

 

Harry frowned. “Really who? What?” And he turned to face the door to the kitchen just as Sirius strode out. He just stared at his godfather, dumbstruck, even when Molly pushed around from behind him. 

 

“No fucking way.” Ron breathed. 

 

“Ronald Weasley, we do  _ not  _ use that kind of language in this house.” Molly snapped, forgetting momentarily that she wasn’t tucked safely in the Burrow. 

 

“Maybe not in your house. It’s certainly allowed in my house.” Sirius grinned cheekily. 

 

“Is that seriously what you’re focused on right now? That,” He pointed at Sirius incredulously. “Is a fucking  _ dead man _ . Literally, until a minute ago he was dead, and you’re worried about me swearing?” He snarled.

 

“Sirius?” Harry whispered, quiet voice silencing the shouts around him. “You’re...He’s…” He looked at Arthur helplessly. “I saw you go through! I saw you die! Dumbledore said…”

 

“Dumbledore was acting on strong evidence collected over centuries of mishaps in the death chamber. He missed a crucial point—Bellatrix didn’t kill me. She hit me with an unreasonably strong stunner.” He told his godson softly. “And it turns out that I had proof of life. I have a contact who has a tattoo that turns gray when the person it’s linked to dies. Mine didn’t turn grey, it just kind blurred. She went to Dumbledore, and he formed a research team to try to get me out.”

 

“Why wasn’t I told?” Harry demanded, furious.

 

“He didn’t want to get your hopes up, just in case it didn’t work. You’ve been through too much already, he didn’t want you to lose me twice.” Sirius explained gently. Harry could accept that. But wheels were turning rapidly in Ron’s head.

 

“A research team? Researching those weird runic carvings?” He asked, an odd look clouded his face. Ginny bit back a groan. Of all the times for her brother to be insightful, this was the worst possible moment. “Hermione was on the research team, wasn’t she.”

 

“Ron…”

 

“What?” Harry snapped. “She knew? She knew you were back and didn’t tell me?” He bellowed.

 

“That bitch…” Ron swore under his breath.

 

“Harry, she did it so that I could tell you. I asked her to.” Sirius explained. Harry softened slightly, but he was furious. Hermione was one hell of an actress if she could pretend that this hadn’t happened and lie straight to his face. 

 

“Who else was on the research team?” Harry demanded. 

 

“It’s part of Hermione’s assignment, and it’s crucial that it remains classified.” Sirius said apologetically. Harry’s ire flared up again. Ginny made a mental note to warn Hermione that Harry was furious. She just couldn’t bare her tattoo when her mother was in the room. She wasn’t ready for that dressing down. 

 

“I can’t fucking believe her.” Ron snarled. 

 

“Well, Ron, at least now you know you were wrong.” Ginny said sweetly, voice bubbling with a syrupy venom. “You know, when you stood up in the Great Hall and publicly accused Hermione of being a slut, whore and a traitor?”

 

Ron turned a violent, beet red. “She was hiding things from us! HUGE things! Sirius is  _ alive _ and she didn’t tell us!” 

 

“Ronald Weasley!” Molly shrieked. “Tell me right now that you did  _ not _ call Hermione all of those terrible things!” She looked like she was on the verge of a breakdown. 

 

“Of course he did, mum.” Ginny snapped. “Did he forget to mention that when he wrote home telling you that Hermione had elected to remove him from his life? She got tired of him verbally attacking her when she disagreed with him. Oh, and of him prying into her mission which was ordered a secret by Dumbledore himself.”

 

Arthur was staring at his son with a mixture of fury and disappointment. Ron was looking at Ginny with a glare that could kill. Sirius was glaring at Ron and Harry was staring appreciatively at Ginny (for saying what he had been to uncomfortable to say himself). “So, the second she says something you don’t like, you turn your back on her?” Sirius growled. “I knew someone like that once.”

 

Ron flinched and paled instantly. “I’m  _ nothing  _ like him. I would never betray them.”

 

“Neither would Hermione.” Sirius prowled closer. “She would do  _ anything _ to keep Harry safe and see him smile, and in return you called her a whore in front of the entire school? Accused her of being a traitor? Have you actually given any thought to what her behavior might mean for her mission? Or were you just pissed that her change in attitude was inconvenient to you? Jealous that other pursuits demanded her attention?”

 

“Why are you so upset?” He demanded defensively. 

 

“That girl has saved my life twice now. For Harry.” He breathed venomously. Ginny seemed to be enjoying the show immensely from the doorway. “You are a small, selfish little boy, and if I hear you’ve been giving her grief, I’ll break your legs and knock a few teeth loose while I’m at it.”

 

“Come now, Sirius…” Arthur tried to intervene diplomatically. “Ron will be disciplined, but that’s really our job. There’s no need to threaten him.”

 

“Then  _ discipline him _ , Arthur. Because this is just like the time that he accused Harry of putting his own name in the Goblet of Fire. Or the time that he stopped talking to Hermione because Harry received a mysterious package that could have contained a jinxed broom. I told Harry off already.” Harry nodded in agreement. It had been a quick, quiet and disappointed scolding that had outlined his responsibility as a friend to give his friends the benefit of the doubt, especially when those friends were constantly involved in saving his skin. “I doubt Ron’s gotten a raised voice from either of you on his treatment of his friends. Just when he fucks up royally. Like stealing the bloody Flying Car.” He snapped. 

 

Arthur looked appropriately shamefaced, but Molly looked riled and furious. “Now you listen here, Sirius Black. You do  _ not _ get to lecture me on parenting when you’re well ready to throw your charge out the door to fight in a battle he’s too young for.”

 

“There’s a difference between protecting your children and blinding them, Molly.” He said coolly, respect for the woman dwindling. “I have the perspective to know that whether or not Harry  _ wants  _ to fight, Voldemort is coming for him. I’d rather him have his eyes open so that he can duck then cover his eyes and assume he’ll be prepared. Since I’ve known him, I have always encouraged him to be a good and loyal friend, to do his best, and to be ask knowledgeable and prepared as possible.  _ You _ have essentially allowed your son to go unchecked for sixteen years. Now he thinks he can get away with treating everyone like garbage if they don’t suit his needs. The only person who feels confident enough to withstand his ire is Ginny, but I suspect she got her humility and general decency from her siblings. Fred, George, Bill, and Charlie, specifically.”

 

Molly had gone a funny shade of puce. “How  _ dare you— _ ” She snarled.

 

“I already know that you tried to toss my things. I wouldn’t be surprised if you were the one who let Dung nick them. How long did you wait before you tried to throw Harry’s property in the bin because you didn’t like me? Did you know that the box he stopped you from binning was given to me by Lily?” He asked quietly. “You may not see the flaws in your parenting style, Molly, but he is certainly your son. You come at people like a rogue bludger when you dislike or disagree with them. That might have been alright when I had no choice but to let you in because I couldn’t leave the house, but I’m a free man now. So you either behave and teach your son some manners, or you leave.” 

 

Harry was gaping at him. Ginny just looked quietly pleased, and Arthur placed his hand on his wife’s shoulder. “Molly, darling. Come with me and we’ll cool down. Discuss this calmly.” He said softly. He turned hard eyes to Ron. “You’re coming with us, and we’re going to have a detailed conversation about your attitude.” 

 

Ron scowled fiercely at Sirius before storming up the stairs to the room that Molly and Arthur occupied. Molly and Arthur followed him, one shamefaced and one purple with fury. 

 

“Nicely done.” Ginny said once they were gone. “And welcome back.”

 

Harry, unable to contain himself any longer, threw his arms around Sirius’ neck. “I can’t believe you’re here.” He breathed. Sirius hugged him back fiercely.

 

“Believe it kid.” He said, pulling back. “And try not to be angry with Hermione. You know that if she thought it would be better for you to know, she would have told you.”

 

“I know.” He said reluctantly. “I just...it feels like she’s drifting away from us.” He admitted. 

 

“Her assignment is incredibly important, and it takes a lot of time and secrecy. Something went pretty drastically wrong with it a few weeks ago. It’s high-stakes.”

 

“How do you know so much about it?” He inquired curiously.

 

“Because I was in her position before I went through the veil. Now we’re working it together, but I’m taking a more supervisory role.” He explained. “She’s essentially leading the effort.” Harry nodded. “What, you’re not going to ask me more?”   
  


“I promised Hermione that I’d let it be. Told her I trust her, and I do.” Harry smiled sadly. “She’ll tell me when it’s safe to know.”

 

“That she will.”

* * *

 

“Hello?” Hermione let herself into the Pit. “Anyone home?”

 

“In here!”

 

Hermione turned the corner to find Amalia, Primrose and Marcus watching TV (a sight that she was certain she’d never grow accustomed to in a wizarding household). “What’re you watching?” She glanced at the TV. “Oh my god, is that Jurassic Park?”

 

“You’ve seen it?” Marcus asked, beckoning her over.

 

“Of course I have. It’s  _ iconic _ .” She squealed excitedly, hurrying over to the couch. She sat next to Marcus, and he swung an arm around her shoulder. Then a thought occurred to her. “Do you know what Dinosaur is?”   
  


Marcus sheepishly waved his hand at the TV. “A muggle mythical creature? I’d imagine it’s something like their perception of mermaids. Close but not close enough?”

 

She gazed at him in horror. “I’m going to educate you people. We’re going to have a really in-depth education that spans the knowledge that muggles have gained without magic.” She said hotly. “Dinosaurs were  _ real _ . Millions of years ago. We know the existed because as they decomposed, their remains were encased in layers of sediment that became rock, and we’ve been finding those fossils for centuries. All of those” she pointed at the TV, and the little velociraptor encased within. “Existed. For real.” She told them seriously. 

 

All three of them looked shellshocked. “Seriously?”   
  


“Before humans even existed.” She nodded. Marcus was staring at her in complete bewilderment.    
  


“How do we not know that?” He muttered, disturbed. 

 

“To be fair, muggles know it, but a fair few don’t believe it.” She admitted irately. “But still. The fact that you didn’t know at all is an indictment against our education system.” She seethed. Marcus pulled her closer. 

 

“A couple things.” He said, tucking her head under his chin. “First, the amount of knowledge you store in that head of yours is terrifying.” He pressed a kiss to the temple of the head in question. “Second, you’re incredibly sexy when you get riled up. Sexy  _ and  _ cute. It’s a mental dilemma.”

 

“I think she’s sexy when she’s fired up at a specific person and cute when she’s pissed off at the establishment.” Primrose commented, reminding them subtly that she and Amalia were still there. Marcus nodded, accepting her analysis. 

 

“So when she’s pissed at the establishment who is personified by a certain person, she’s sexy  _ and  _ cute?”   
  


“Precisely. Or when she’s pissed at the establishment on behalf of another person.” Primrose confirmed. Hermione was blushing violently. 

 

“You’re all insufferable.”

 

“And yet, you decided to spend two whole weeks with us.” Marcus chuckled. 

 

“That was to make sure that your intestines had stopped spontaneously splitting.” Hermione told him crossly. “And to make sure that Amalia was leaving her room and not privately flagellating herself.” She shot the older girl a reproachful glance, and received a nasty glare in return. “Don’t pretend I don’t have a point. Until three days ago, Grin was breaking into your room every day to make sure you were still alive and eating.”

 

“Shut it.” Amalia grumbled. “We’re watching a movie.”

 

Hermione smirked, but fell silent. It didn’t stay that way for long, because armed with new knowledge, Marcus had started peppering her with questions about the science behind the movie, and about dinosaurs and cars and electric fences. At one point, Hermione caught her looking at them with something akin to fondness, but just a shade more apathetic. 

 

Hermione’s arm started itching. She looked down at her tattoo, muttering the password. Ginny’s scrawling handwriting stretched onto her skin.  _ Harry knows, is fine. _ Then it changed again.  _ Even from afar, you’re causing trouble. _

 

“What the hell does that mean?” She muttered irately. Marcus shrugged. 

 

“I’m sure Sirius will tell us during his check-in tomorrow.” He told her quietly. She nodded. At some point during the movie, Grin (who had apparently watched Jurassic Park at least twenty times) joined them, and Marcus told her excitedly that dinosaurs were  _ real _ . She stared at him. 

 

“Of  _ course _ they’re real, Marcus.” She said incredulously. 

 

He looked both offended and confused. “I just thought it was fanciful muggle imagination! How did you know it was real?”

 

“Have you forgotten how I got here?” Grin scoffed. “I made friends with a muggleborn.” She shook her head. “I brought takeaway, it’s in the kitchen.” She told them, flopping down on the couch next to Amalia. “Are Blaise and Pansy joining us?”

 

“Not yet. Blaise’s mother is going to the Amalfi coast with potential husband number eight, and Pansy is telling her parents that she’ll be staying at the Zabini’s Chateau to make sure that he’s not wreaking havoc or succumbing to his eating disorder.” 

 

Grin gave a little jolt of surprise. “Blaise has an eating disorder?”

 

“No.” Hermione shook her head. “Not anymore, at least.”

 

“Not enough information Hermione. Cough it up.” Grin demanded. Hermione sighed, recognizing well in advance that Blaise was going to murder her in cold blood. 

 

“Fourth year. He got a little paranoid about making the Quidditch team, and on top of that his mother told him he was getting love handles. He only ate one meal a day, it was usually breakfast and it mostly consisted of coffee, an egg and a grilled tomato.” She said. “Anorexia. Madam Pomfrey caught it because he fainted while running from a Blast-Ended Skrewt.”

 

“A  _ what? _ ”

 

Marcus burst out laughing. “Honestly, it’s not funny. Those bloody monsters were dangerous.” Hermione sniffed. “Not to mention disgusting. A crossbreed between a manticore and a firecrab.” Grin looked appropriately horrified. 

 

“Could he have fainted from genuine terror?” She asked a little shrilly.

 

“Oh certainly. That’s what we all thought.” Hermione nodded. “They’ve got the mental capacity of a firecrab. Manticores are actually quite intelligent, so they’re trainable. But firecrabs just kind of...explode at will.” She shuddered. “Harry still has a burn scar from the third Triwizard task.”

 

“An eating disorder.” Grin shook her head, scrubbing her hand over her face. “But not anymore?”   
  


“Not anymore.” Hermione confirmed. “Madam Pomfrey gave him a variety of ways to stay fit and healthy without causing his body harm.” 

 

“Bless that woman.” Grin muttered. “So they’ll be here....”

 

“The day after tomorrow.” 

 

“Brilliant. Remind me to send Etty to restock the pantry.” She told Amalia, who nodded curtly. Hermione froze and Marcus groaned. 

 

“Who is Etty?” Hermione asked quietly.

 

“Our house-elf. The one who smuggled my things out of my home before my father had officially disowned me.” Grin replied, not quite understanding what she had walked into. 

 

“Slave labor. This house runs on slave labor?” Hermione demanded. 

 

“Hardly.” Grin snorted. “I couldn’t get rid of her even if I wanted to. I tried to free her just in case she was tied to my father and she cried for eight whole hours. Her only responsibility is to keep the kitchen stocked. I quite like cooking and Lawrence is a compulsive cleaner. Helps with his anxiety. We hardly use her.” 

 

“Not all house-elves are brutally abused by their pureblood masters. They’re more like family members with self-designated responsibilities.” Marcus explained. “It’s why most of them don’t take payment. It’s offensive to pay family to help around the house. They operate under more of a bee-like structure, where the wizard they serve is the proverbial queen, and they work in tandem to support the queen’s needs.”

 

Hermione’s eyes widened dramatically. “Why has  _ nobody _ told me that?” She demanded. “I thought they were just brainwashed into thinking they liked their work!” 

 

“Some of them take too much abuse.” Grin admitted. “But the binding that they willingly undergo is a strong spell. It’s a biological vow of obedience, and in return their magic and health is stronger. It’s a symbiotic relationship.” 

 

“See, that makes sense! If someone had explained that to me, I wouldn’t be leaving bloody knitted hats all over our common room!” She hissed. Marcus guffawed, and she elbowed him in the stomach in retaliation. “Instead, I’d be focusing on legislation banning house-elf abuse.”

 

“A noble cause, to be sure. House-elves deserve far more than most families give them.” Grin said sagely. “But you do realize that even if they had picked up those hats, you wouldn’t have been able to free them? The clothes have to come from the head of their family, so Dumbledore himself. You probably just offended them.”

 

Hermione’s mouth dropped open in horror, and Amalia cracked, doubling over in laughter. “I wouldn’t say  _ offended _ .” Primrose comforted her cautiously. “Maybe just...uncomfortable? Wary?”

 

It took a while for Hermione to come off her ire and mortification. It helped that Marcus had pulled her into his lap and was cuddling her close and whispering ridiculous questions into her ear. “We should watch Indiana Jones next.” Hermione suggested. “Since we’ve started with an archaeology theme.” 

 

More Pit members joined them, but Theomer and Calendula were conspicuously missing. “Where’s Cal?” Hermione asked Marcus. His arms tightened around her.

 

“Meeting her fiance.” He grunted, clearly displeased. “In Italy. Theomer is escorting her.” Hermione’s brow furrowed. “It’s tradition. To have a non-family member escort the bride-to-be to meet their betrothed. Ensures that parents won’t interfere unnecessarily, but that that the relationship remains chaste until marriage.”

 

_ “Chaste?” _ Hermione hissed. 

 

“Yeah, it’s antiquated.” Marcus agreed. “Besides which, Cal is by  _ no means _ a virgin. But it’s the appearance of propriety in the eyes of the groom’s family that matters.” 

 

“She’s not going to go through with it, is she?”   
  


“Depends. If we win, and we can start breaking down old Pureblood traditions, then certainly not. Unless she actually falls in love with the guy. But if we lose, and old Pureblood society laws are reinforced, each and every one of us—besides Grin—is staring down an arranged marriage.” He said it as though there were a bitter coat on his tongue. She kissed it better. 

 

“We’ll win.”

 

“Not if we can’t get our shit together.” He muttered. There was an irritated grimace plastered on his face. 

 

“Nobody could have anticipated that ambush.” Hermione said hotly. He didn’t meet her eyes. “ _ Hey. _ They one upped us. It’s war. It happens.” She placed her hand on his jaw and forced him to meet her eyes. They failed to notice the eyes watching them as the spoke in hushed tones. “If you hadn’t been there, Theomer would be dead. If he hadn't been there, Anwar would be dead. It was a bad day, but you all lived, and we don’t have time for wallowing. It’s a snake pit. When we get stepped on, we bite harder.” 

 

Marcus kissed her then—a consuming and passionate thing. Hermione’s toes curled under his attention. “What was that for?” She breathed when he released her.

 

“I’m guessing it was a thank you for the excellent motivational speech.” Grin said dryly. Hermione blushed to her toes and peered across Marcus’ torso to look at the rest of the Pit members, who were looking right back. “Truly, that was an excellent metaphor. Poignant enough even for Amalia.”

 

“Quite.” Amalia agreed, amused. Hermione was glad that she was smiling again, so she considered her pep talk a success. 

 

“I guess that means you’ll be back up and running tomorrow.” Hermione told her curtly. “Or else it’ll be a pep-talk squandered.”

 

Amalia saluted mockingly and settled back into the couch. Grin gave Hermione a pleased smile, and Hermione knew that she’d gotten through. 


	22. Progress

Marcus spent the night in Hermione’s room the first night, and she in his the next. When she went down to breakfast on the second morning, she was engulfed in a hug (that was really more of a tackle) as soon as she got through the kitchen door. 

 

“Good morning?” Hermione spluttered through a mouthful of Pansy’s hair. 

 

“You’re brilliant.” Pansy said decisively, hugging her closer. “I’ve decided. I wasn’t sure if you were mad or just a straight genius before, but I’m certain now.” She mumbled into Hermione’s currently untamed nest of curls. 

 

“Thank you?” Hermione said uncertainly, craning her neck in Pansy’s vice grip to look at Blaise in askance. Grin was sitting on a kitchen stool, a watery smile painted on her face. Hermione had always loved the Pit’s kitchen. It was open and bright, with a large island in the center that doubled as a counter and bar table. There was enough space for a 10-seat dining table, a fully stocked pantry (and a muggle fridge), and walls lined with cabinets. It was a  _ huge _ kitchen, and it only emphasized the extreme proficiency of the undetectable extension charm that lay in the walls of the Pit. “I still don’t understand what I did…”

 

“Ultimatum sounds a little ugly, but the one you gave Draco was brilliant.” Blaise told her. Pansy untangled herself from the brunette. “Brilliant enough for Pansy to feel legitimately affectionate, and that’s one hell of a feat, Granger.”

 

“How was it brilliant? I was hoping he’d tell me to piss off.”

 

“Yeah, but it got him to start taking care of himself again, and it opened the door for us to talk to him about his options. On top of that, it made him start communicating with us again. He’s  _ desperate _ for whatever you can offer, and he’s willing to jump through your hoops to get it.” Pansy explained. “He’s told me that as soon as we get back to school he’s going for a full seven days under your conditions, and he’ll spend the break considering his options.”

 

Grin was beaming now. “That was your toughest nut to crack, and you cracked right on through. Nicely done.” She congratulated her co-leader. “Apparently Tracy Davis is also considering fleeing the country instead of fighting. Maybe you can get to her next.” Grin winked. 

 

“I have literally never talked to Tracy Davis in my life. Is there coffee?” Hermione whined. She hadn’t been awake this long without caffeine in almost four years. Grin flicked her wand at the coffee pot, and it floated through the air, joined by a large coffee mug, and poured itself on its way to Hermione’s waiting hands. “ _ Thank you. _ ” She moaned, taking a large, throat-burning gulp of the bitter liquid. 

 

“Up late?” Blaise grinned wolfishly. 

 

“Yes, researching Horcruxes.” Hermione replied absently, either ignoring or missing the implication. Blaise rolled his eyes.

 

“Not getting hot and heavy with Marc? How disappointing.” Pansy muttered, sipping her own coffee. Hermione’s cheeks tinged pink, but apparently the key to overcoming modesty was exposure therapy, both to ridicule and to alternative moral codes. 

 

“A little of that. But honestly, he was asleep before I got back to the room. He’s still recovering.” She shrugged. Placing her cup on the counter, she sauntered to the fridge and started yanking out ingredients. 

 

The fireplace roared to life, flashing emerald green as Sirius stepped through. “Morning you lot.” He greeted them. Hermione gave him a quick smile.

 

“You’re just in time for breakfast.”

 

“Oh perfect, now I won’t have to guess if Molly is going to poison me.” He said cheerily. “What are we having?” But Hermione had turned around to goggle at him. 

 

“What?” She hissed. 

 

“Oh. Um...I might have criticized her parenting style and given Ron a thorough reaming when he got to Grimmauld.” He grinned sheepishly. Her mouth fell open. “I know. Reckless when that woman’s taken over my kitchen, but honestly. Burning you out because you were standing up for yourself and doing your job?” He scoffed. “Doesn’t sound like a Gryffindor to me.”

 

Grin furrowed her brow. “You didn’t tell me that we were causing you trouble.” She sounded legitimately upset. 

 

“I’m not. It’s unfortunate that Ronald has decided to be a nosy arse, but it’s no different from normal. Even speaking to Pansy and Blaise was enough to get the silent treatment. Oh, and to be called a whore in front of the whole school. I don’t really feel like I’m suffering a loss, right now.” She rolled her eyes. 

 

“Now do you see why we don’t like him?” Blaise asked pointedly. 

 

“I didn’t come over to bitch about my godson’s friends.” Sirius scolded. Blaise and Pansy’s eyes widened. Apparently, that was new information. “I came here to give you lot your Christmas gifts while Harry’s still sleeping.” Hermione finally took notice of the bag that he was dragging with him. 

 

“What’s in there?” She asked excitedly. 

 

“Oh no. You’re getting your gifts on Christmas. Nice try, kitten.” He chuckled when she pouted. 

 

“Kitten?” Blaise spluttered.

 

“You know. Sweet, fluffy and adorable with razor sharp claws? Or just a sexy pet name.” Sirius winked saucily and Hermione guffawed. 

 

“I’ve never had a sexy pet name!” She said in breathy mock-excitement. 

 

“Marcus is slacking then.” Pansy snorted. 

 

“He calls me Princess.” She wrinkled her nose. “Or beautiful. And sometimes the only thing I can think is “ _ why are you lying _ .” 

 

“You’re joking, right?” Blaise asked bluntly. 

 

“I really don’t think of myself as beautiful or a princess.” She shrugged, cracking eggs into the pan. “I think of myself as...a strategic chimera.” She decided. Grin spluttered a laugh into her piping hot coffee, sloshing it down her front. 

 

“A strategic chimera?” Sirius asked slowly. “Please explain.”

 

“I’m reasonable, and I don’t fly into rages as often as a normal chimera. I pick my battles strategically, and when I do, I’m stubborn like a goat, fiery like a dragon and violent like a lion.” She shrugged. 

 

“And...you’ve got claws like a lioness in the bedroom?” Blaise asked hopefully, earning a sharp smack around the back of the head from Pansy. 

 

“To be determined.” She told him primly. 

 

Sirius was now  _ cracking up _ . “A  _ strategic chimera!” _ He wheezed. Grin gave him a thoroughly unimpressed look. 

 

“Maybe the veil did have an effect on him. It damaged his sense of humor.” She said dryly. “I mean it was funny,” she assured the younger girl. “But it wasn’t  _ that  _ funny.” She pointed at Sirius, who was doubling over. 

 

“Just leave him to it.” Hermione sighed. “He’ll right himself eventually. Eggs anyone?” She asked, offering up her pan of fresh scramble.

 

Grin and Blaise both tucked in, and Pansy busied herself with peeling a grapefruit. Once Sirius got ahold of himself, he also served himself some eggs and toast while Hermione made bacon. “Delicious.” He complimented lightly. 

 

“Cheese, cream and chives.” Hermione replied. 

 

“Genius, chimera, bloody good cook.” Sirius recounted blandly. “Is there anything you can’t do?”

 

“Well, I’m pants at flying.” Hermione responded flippantly. “I’m terrified of heights. Other than that, I’m a renaissance woman of varied and plenty enthusiasms.” 

 

“Nerd. She’s a nerd.” Pansy corrected. Hermione flipped her off over her shoulder. 

 

“So nerd. What’s our next big focus?” Grin asked, sipping delicately on her coffee. Hermione hummed thoughtfully, flipping her bacon and turning her her sausages. 

 

“I think the Horcrux research is our primary focus.” Hermione murmured. “Once we really figure out how Voldemort decided to use them, Strike can prioritize to search and destroy.” She glanced up at Grin, who was nodding. “We should still have them go out to try to pick off some of the weaklings. Steer clear of the Lestranges, Malfoys and Dolohov. And the Rowles.” 

 

Blaise pursed his lips, but said nothing. Hermione couldn’t see him, but Sirius did. He raised an eyebrow, and the younger man mouthed ‘ _ later _ ’. Sirius nodded. “Are you sure that’s the best strategy?” Blaise asked quickly, trying to keep Dolohov on the line. 

 

“I’ve actually been thinking about it a lot.” Hermione told him, turning around with the pan in hand. As she forked sausage and bacon onto plates, she continued. “I think picking them off around the edges is the best strategy. Start with the big fish too soon, and he’ll close ranks and start weeding out spies.” She said grimly. “If he loses the fringe members that he hardly cares about, then we’re more likely to take him by surprise.”

 

Grin nodded thoughtfully. “Makes sense.” She agreed. 

 

“She always does.” Sirius said fondly. “Even her cat thinks so.”

 

“It’s creepy that you and Crooks are best chums.” Hermione informed Sirius. He grinned wolfishly. 

 

“You’re friends with her cat?” Pansy snorted. 

 

“Well if that isn’t the double-entendre of the year.” Blaise muttered, earning yet another slap to the back of the head. “Would you  _ quit _ !” He snapped at Pansy. 

 

Hermione blushed red, but continued as though she hadn’t heard him. Sirius’ wolfish grin became almost predatory. “He is. Crookshanks is always so much more energetic around holidays. He was quite bitter when you weren’t around over the summer. Grumpy. Cantankerous even.” She gave him a reproachful stare. 

 

“It’s not like I fell through that bloody veil on purpose.” He grumbled. 

 

“Yeah, but honestly. How embarrassed are you that you got taken out by a stunner?” Grin teased. 

 

“Quite, thank you.” He said sourly. “Luckily for me, I have Hermione Granger in my corner.” He winked at her. She shook her head. 

 

“Turning your back on Bellatrix Lestrange.” She muttered. “Of all the ridiculous things to do.” She shook her head. “I’ve made my peace with it, and I’ve already vowed to blow the bitch up as soon as I have a clear shot, assuming Harry doesn’t get to her first. But for  _ fuck’s _ sake, it’s like you’ve never spent time with Mad-Eye in your life!”

 

Sirius had the good grace to look shamefaced. “Yeah, I know. Lucius was coming at Harry and I just went after him. Completely forgot to cover myself. Sloppy. I would have been kicked out of Auror Training for that if I’d done it in my younger years.”

 

“Ah, good. The heavy conversations in the morning.” Joshua greeted them cheerily. Anwar and Lawrence were with him. “Is there enough breakfast for us? Or am I going to have to actually lift a finger?” 

 

Hermione jabbed her thumb over her shoulder at the stove. “Have you lot actually gone through Auror training?” Grin shook her head.

 

“The research team mostly stays here unless we’re needed. We’re alright at dueling, but there’s not much need in the library. Espionage is a little better, but they’re more blend in than lethal finding.” 

 

“I think that should be an entry requirement moving forward. Training each other under Sirius’ tutelage.” Hermione glanced at Sirius. “If you’re amenable.” He nodded quickly. “We need the edge. I don’t want you guys caught in crosshairs ever again.”

 

“What are crosshairs?” Blaise asked Sirius quietly, and was waved off. 

 

“I mean, Ginny and I are good duelists, but it’s not like we have consistent education. Most of our training came from Harry and actually fighting our way out of situations we were ill equipped for.” She said somewhat sourly. Sirius smiled sadly. She had been forced to grow up far before her time. He wouldn’t be surprised if she had gray hairs from keeping his godson out of danger. 

 

“It’s an excellent idea.” Anwar said, glancing at Sirius. He, too, was an Auror. A junior Auror, but an Auror nonetheless. “I can help you come up with an accelerated curriculum. Training session scheduling, and the like.”

 

“That would be brilliant.” Sirius agreed. “It’ll have to be tomorrow, though. Harry’ll be waking up soon.” He stood. “See you later. Grin, Lawrence, Josh, Anwar. Junior Slytherins. Kitten.” He ducked a projectile fork as he flew through the Floo. 

 

“Nice aim.” Grin said, a smile tickling the corners of her mouth.

 

“I thought so.” Hermione growled.

* * *

“How are they?” Ginny asked quietly. She hadn’t reached back out since her first set of messages to Hermione, too afraid that her currently erratically furious mother would burst in at an inopportune moment and see her daughter’s flesh marred.

 

“Fine.” Sirius mumbled back. Most of the house was still asleep, but Molly and Kreacher were in the kitchen, and he and Ginny were in the sitting room. Molly would flay them both if she knew about Ginny’s involvement in an actual mission. “They’re recovering from their blow and repositioning. I can’t believe they went after Dolohov without clearing it with Hermione first. They’re supposed to get Dumbledore’s approval for targets from her.”

 

Ginny bit her lip. “They targeted Dolohov because of Hermione.” She told him. He frowned. 

 

“She said she didn’t know anything about—”

 

“No, you that’s not it. Not because she  _ told _ them to, but because of what he did to her.” Sirius when paper white.

 

“What did he do to her?”

 

Ginny glanced around the room, listening for approaching footsteps. “Are you any good at legilimency?” She asked. “I can’t let anyone overhear this. Harry would never let Hermione out of his sight. Ever again.”

 

Sirius nodded quickly and raised his wand. “Ready?  _ Legilimens. _ ” 

 

He watched Ginny’s memory of Blaise telling them what happened. He emerged moments after, purple with fury. “He didn’t.  _ Tell me he didn’t.” _ His voice shook with fury.

 

“You can’t go after him.” Ginny warned him. “He’s better prepared for us than we thought he was. Hermione would never forgive herself if you went after him for her and got hurt. Don’t put that on her shoulders.”

 

“The minute I cross paths with that  _ monster… _ ”

 

“Tear him apart.” Ginny agreed. “You’ll have to get in line. But that’s why they prioritized him. Marcus was leading the operation, and he’s got Granger Fever. As soon as he had an iota of information, he went in like a bull in a china shop. He didn’t wait for vetting, he just took the team and charged ahead.”

 

Sirius nodded. He honestly didn’t know how he’d ever be able to look Hermione in the eye again. “She seems so...normal.” He shook his head. “How could she possibly be so determined and unruffled so soon after something like that?”

 

“You remember the night you came back? Hermione told you about a spell she used to take a memory from Blaise that would have exposed Grin?” Sirius’ eyes darkened with understanding. 

 

“She took the memory from herself.” He whispered. “That girl…”

 

“Woman.” Ginny said quietly. “She hasn’t been a girl in a long time. None of us are children anymore.”

 

“No.” Sirius agreed thoughtfully. He was disturbed to his core. “I suppose you haven’t.”


	23. Polished

Hermione was having an odd day. She’d been at the Pit for a week now. Pit members had come and gone, and she’d been spending a lot of time getting to know her teammates. Grin, in particular, had been spending a lot of time with her. Not just strategizing, but actual bonding. It was nice. Of course, walking in on her crooning seductively while riding Anwar had been a bit jarring. The girl was ridiculously alluring and sexual.

 

It had lit this weird spark of curiosity, and it annoyed her. She had things to focus on that were  _ so _ much more important. Getting the Pit’s training up to par, for example. Anwar and Sirius had formulated a curriculum and come up with a training schedule that would work for the live-ins and the Hogwarts students alike. It included a rigorous physical training regimen that they would be able to complete at school. 

 

But Hermione just...couldn’t get that image out of her head. Anwar propped up against the pillow, eyes screwed shut in ecstasy while Grin gyrated atop him, leaned over and biting at his neck, hair trailing over her prey’s abdomen. His thighs had been shaking, as though he were trying to stay still. His hands were gripping her hips fiercely, hard enough to leave little blue bruises while she murmured in his ear. It was the perfect snapshot of intimacy, and it was driving Hermione nuts. 

 

“Everything okay?” Pansy asked. Hermione was sitting in the living room, trying to read but mostly staring into space. Pansy had been watching her zone out for about five minutes, and Hermione jumped when she heard her voice. 

 

“Fine!” Hermione squeaked. Pansy raised an imperious eyebrow, waiting for the truth. “What?”   
  


“You’re zoning out. You’re all pink and awkward.” She fluttered her hand in Hermione’s direction. “What’s going on?”

 

“Nothing. Seriously, I’m good.” Hermione promised. Pansy crossed her arms over her chest. “Oh, alright.” She grumbled. “I walked in on Grin and Anwar.”

 

“Oh. Mildly embarrassing, but this lot ruts like rabbits, so not surprising. Why is it bothering you?”

 

“It’s not that walking in on them that’s bothering me.” Hermione grumbled. “It’s just...Marcus is great, but he treats me like glass. I think I’m ready to go further, but I don’t know how to broach the topic?” Her voice raised at the end, as though asking for advice. Pansy considered her seriously. 

 

“You do have more than one option in the house.” Pansy reminded her. “I suggest you pick one who has  _ no _ expectations of what they’ll get from you, and take the next step. Then take it back to Marcus.” Hermione considered it, but blushed violently as she did. “Ah. You don’t want to do the propositioning.” Pansy smirked. 

 

“I’d prefer not to.” She admitted uncomfortably. “I’m just…”

 

“Not confident in your sexuality? Afraid that they want you because you’re available instead of wanting you because you’re you?” Pansy ticked off on her fingers. “Really, pick one. These are all direct observations.”

 

“Nobody’s ever really noticed that I’m a girl. I’m just kind of sexless in the eyes of our peers.” Hermione mumbled. “It’s hard to believe that I’m suddenly desireable.”

 

“You’re not sexless.” Pansy rolled her eyes. “Sure, you don’t put stock in appearances, but the fact that you’re confident enough to be exactly what you are and be stunning while you do it is sexy on its own. It’s also ridiculously intimidating. It’s different here because these people are hard pressed to be intimidated by anything. I mean, if you  _ want _ to be attractive to a bunch of schoolboys, I’d be happy to give you some self-maintenance tips. But honestly, you need a man. A man who isn’t afraid of being with a self-confident woman. Or a woman who isn’t afraid of a self confident woman.” 

 

Hermione was a little watery-eyed. “That has to be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

 

“Well fuck, don’t go get all teary on me. Just tell me what you want, and I’ll help make it happen.” Pansy snapped. Hermione contained a grin. At least one universal truth was holding strong: Slytherins were shoddy at emotional support. 

 

“I’ll consider your advice, but if you don’t mind, I’d like some of your “self maintenance” tips. I mean, self confidence is fine, but looking your best never hurt anyone.” She said sheepishly. It was something she’d been considering for a while. She liked the way she looked, but she’d be graduating in a year. She had to look like an adult. “I don’t want to change drastically. Just...more polished.”

 

Pansy gave her a quick once over. “You’re most of the way there already.” She shrugged. “Honestly, the devil’s in the details. I hated your hair when we were younger, but it sort of has a wild charm now. It’s your trademark. But the simple things like maintaining your eyebrows and doing your nails. There’s some makeup that can enhance your features without drastically altering anything.”

 

“Help?”

 

Pansy smiled calculatingly. “Sure. We’ll get started after dinner.”

* * *

 

“Blaise?” Pansy knocked on her counterpart’s door. 

 

“Come in!” He called back. “You need something?” He asked, not looking up from his book. 

 

“Not me. Hermione.” Blaise looked up immediately and was met by Pansy’s smug smirk. “Somebody’s an eager beaver.”

 

“What do you want, Pans?” He sighed, irritated. Her smirk widened. 

 

“I’m going to share some insider information with you out of the goodness of my heart.” Blaise snorted, but she continued as though he hadn’t. “Miss Granger is currently lamenting the lack of progress in her sexual awakening.” He immediately leaned forward, intrigued. “She wants to go further than Marcus is taking her, and would like to seek out an additional partner. Unfortunately, she is concerned about making a move herself because she views herself as an available option instead of legitimately desirable.” Blaise’s mouth was hanging agape. 

 

“She is going to  _ kill _ you for telling me that.” He warned her. 

 

“Not if you give her what she deserves.” She winked. “What do you say, B? Feel up to giving Miss Granger a proper toe curling, body shaking, mind breaking orgasm?”

 

“ _ Obviously. _ ” A near-predatory grin spread across his face. “You’re the best Pans.”

 

“You’ll have to wait a little. I have a little meeting with her this evening. But after that, go get her tiger.” She grinned at him and flounced back out the door.  Blaise slumped back in his seat. Now he just had to figure out his game-plan. 

 

Pansy scoured the house for Primrose, and finally found her on the back porch. It overlooked a lake—a small one in comparison to the Black Lake—surrounded by lush, green forest. She wondered, for the first time, where exactly the Pit was located. “There you are.” She huffed. Primrose swiveled her head to see her sister. There was a cigarette dangling from her fingers, and a file spread out on the patio table. “I thought you quit.” Pansy said, gesturing to the cigarette.

 

“I did for a while. But hey, if I’m going to get blown up, I might as well be calm about it. If we survive this mess, I’ll quit for real.”

 

“How’s that going to work out with the new training regimen?” Pansy chuckled. Primrose smiled wryly and shrugged, offering a cigarette to her younger sister. She was unsurprised when Pansy accepted. “I do miss these when I’m at school.”

 

“I can imagine.” Primrose flicked the ash off the end of her cigarette. “Was there something you wanted?”

 

“I’m giving Hermione a mini-makeover tonight. Nothing spectacularly altering. More of a rough-to-polished diamond kind of deal.” Pansy explained. “For some reason, the spells you dug out of mum’s library are better and longer-lasting than mine. I was wondering if you’d be amenable to sharing.”

 

“Of course.” Primrose agreed. “What were you thinking? Targeted Hair removal? Straightening spell? Teeth whitening?”

 

“Eyebrows, teeth whitening isn’t necessary, but not a terrible idea. Instead of straightening, I was thinking of pulling the ringlets tighter, make it more wildly curly than bushy. Big hair is her trademark, I just think we can make it a pro instead of a con. Then the standard lash growth, facial cleansing, pass her off some of the glow serum we came up with.”

 

“I have never made a ringlet in my life, Pans. Pin straight or die. That’s how we Parkinsons roll.” Primrose said. 

 

“Just because you never made one, doesn’t mean you don’t know the right spell for it.” She replied smoothly. Primrose nodded. “Join us after dinner tonight? We’re going to teach her the spells as we go.”

 

“Yeah, sure.”

 

“Are you just going to sit here and chain smoke while reading…” Pansy glanced at the file on the table. “An inventory of the curses on Death Eaters’ Gringotts account?” Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “What are you up to, Prim?”

 

“Nothing yet. I won’t run off half-cocked without telling you.” Primrose promised. Pansy nodded, still squinting distrustfully. 

 

“If you say so.”

* * *

 

Late in the afternoon, the Pit convened to the ground floor as had become their nightly ritual. Grin, Amalia and Primrose were making dinner—Cioppino with pasta if the ingredients Hermione had seen were anything to go by—and the rest of them were in the living room listening to Rhiannon playing the piano while chatting about this and that. Marcus was out on a mission with Joshua and Don, picking off the low-level Death Eaters like they’d discussed. 

 

Hermione, Pansy and Blaise were discussing potions principles with Meridian, and Lawrence and Anwar were on the couch listening to Rhiannon, almost asleep. 

 

Blaise had been sticking to Hermione’s side all night, and charming the hell out of her. Better yet, he’d been doing it academically. Pansy had, after all, said that Hermione was afraid that she was just an easy selection, not an actual conscious choice. He was just as attracted to her mind as he was to her body, and he was  _ determined _ to prove it. 

 

“I just don’t understand how Potter knew to use a bezoar.” Pansy told them in animated irritation. “I mean honestly, he was never that good when Snape was our potions professor. And it’s not like he’s intimidated by him like Longbottom, so it can’t be that. How did he…”

 

“Oh  _ stop _ already, I’ll tell you.” Hermione groused. “He didn’t think he’d be taking Potions at the beginning of the year, so he had to use one of the spare books in the classroom. He lucked out and got one that used to belong to some prodigy who called himself the half-blood prince.” Even though Blaise had heard it before, he let out another chuckle when he heard the name. “The guy scribbled all over his book, making notes on how to improve the recipe and Harry’s been riding his coat tails all year.” She huffed. “Barely studies at all and still blows me out of the water.”

 

“That must be driving you nuts. Is that why Blaise had me sabotage his potion that day?” Pansy asked. “That’s uncharacteristically sweet of you, Blaise.” She cooed when Hermione nodded. “Making our Miss Granger happy.”

 

Blaise shot her a murderous look, but it melted when Hermione nudged his shoulder with her own. “Our brilliant and fearless leader should never be upstaged.” He smiled down at her. Pansy gave a thin smile of approval. Hermione flushed a little. 

 

“I don’t give a damn if I’m upstaged as long as it’s actually earned.” She muttered. “ _ And _ , that Prince guy is shady. Harry’s been trying out the spells he created, and they’re all at least a little vicious. One dangles you upside down by your ankles, and Harry tried it out before actually testing it.” She shook her head, irritated. “It’s the lack of thought and effort that bothers me.”

 

“Have you tried taking it off him?” Blaise asked mildly. 

 

“They’d know it was me in a second. I’ve thought about it, but I’ve been the most vocal about my disapproval. The second it disappears, I’ll be iced out.” She huffed. “I should have been more relaxed about it in the beginning.”

 

“Yes, but that’s why you’re a Gryffindor.” He murmured, throwing his arm around her shoulders. “And why you have a whole Pit full of Slytherins to do your bidding.”

 

“You’re not my  _ servants _ , Blaise.” She snorted, blushing anyways. She caught Pansy’s eye, and she looked incredibly pleased. “I’m hoping there’s a mistake in there that is severe enough that he’ll cast it off on his own. I really don’t want to sabotage him. I want him to open his eyes.”

 

“Well he does wear glasses. Maybe he can’t see properly even with his eyes open.” Lawrence joked. Hermione only offered him a dry look. She was amused, but  _ honestly. _ That was the best he could come up with. 

 

“Oh you should know better. You never insult Hermione’s golden boy.” Pansy chuckled. “The man’s basically her little brother.”

 

Hermione frowned. “Harry’s older than me.” She disagreed. 

 

“Yes, but it’s never him plucking  _ you _ out of trouble. It’s never  _ you _ that needs help with your mountain of existential problems. You big-sister him all the time. And we all hear it. You get a little loud when you’re angry.” Blaise grinned. 

 

“Sometimes,” Meridian said suddenly. “It’s ridiculous to think that you three hated each other only two months ago.”

 

Blaise and Pansy both paused. “What?”

 

“Yeah. You started getting freaked out by her at the beginning of your school year. That was only three months ago. She officially recruited you two months ago. And now you’re practically spending Christmas together.” He recounted for them. Hermione frowned. 

 

“I’m usually much worse at making friends.” Hermione observed. “People find me annoying.”

 

“You are annoying. To the people you’re set against. Once you’re in someone’s corner, you’re pretty wonderful.” Blaise told her. Her frown deepened.

 

“You think I’m annoying?”

 

“Certainly not anymore. But  _ man _ . When I was on your bad side, I would hide when I saw you coming.” He told her. “Super intimidating.” She was still frowning, staring down at her lap. “Hey.” He said, ducking down to catch her eyes. “It’s not a bad thing. The fact that every Slytherin in Hogwarts knows your name, constantly wonders how you can beat them at everything,  _ and _ be intimidated by you to the point of outright avoidance is a  _ huge _ compliment.”

 

“I’ll work on wrapping my head around that one.” She muttered. “Slytherins are twisted.”

 

Pansy barked out a laugh—the least ladylike laugh Hermione had ever heard from her. “You’ve got that right. My own sister was afraid to tell me that she didn’t approve of mass murder.”

 

Hermione cracked a grin at that, and Blaise released a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “Yes, on a whole, murder seems a little too normal down in Slytherin.” She giggled. 

 

Primrose and Amalia reappeared, poking their heads out of the kitchen to beckon everyone inside. Hermione stood to join them, but Blaise held her back. Confused, Hermione stood back with him as their teammates entered the dining room. Pansy shot him a slightly dirty glare for intentionally flouting her orders, but continued through the doors. 

 

“Is everything okay?” She asked, concerned. He nodded quickly. 

 

“Yeah, I’m fine. I just wanted to make sure I didn’t offend you.” He said softly, stepping closer to her. She looked up at him, confused. 

 

“No, I’m alright. I mean, I’m used to being called annoying, it’s nothing new.”

 

“I didn’t ask if you were used to it. I asked if you were offended by it.” He reminded her. She bit her lip, considering him carefully. 

 

“It did.” She admitted. “I know I’ve come a long way from who I was. I used to be incredibly uptight. That’s something that Harry and Ronald softened in me. And then I started making friends and people started talking to me instead of avoiding me. But people used to call me annoying and swotty all the time.” She told him. He looked a little guilty. “I was really alone. And being called annoying hurts worse than being called a mudblood. It tells me that my personality is so souring that people don’t want to be near me. Being a mudblood just means I have a different heritage. Being annoying makes me an undesirable on a personal level.”

 

“I want to make myself clear.” He stepped even closer, officially breaking her personal space bubble. “Slytherins find different things annoying than Gryffindors do. Slytherins find it annoying when they are bested. Our ambition makes it inconceivable that anyone else could come out on top, and when they do, we turn that frustration inwards.  _ You _ remind us of everything that’s wrong with ourselves, and that is  _ ridiculously annoying _ . You, yourself, are not.”

 

Hermione nodded slowly, digesting his reasoning and accepting it as true. “Alright. No harm done then.” She flashed him a quick smile before turning back towards the kitchen to rejoin the team. He caught her by the wrist. “Was there something else?”

 

“Yes. I’ve been trying to figure out how to ask you for weeks now, and I figured being straightforward might be best.” He cleared his throat uncomfortably. “You remember the morning after we got Sirius back? I told you to consider me as an additional partner. That you were an amazing friend, and stunningly beautiful, and I would be delighted to take you to bed.” Hermione blushed almost purple, but nodded, remembering the morning well. “I was wondering if you’d given it any consideration. I think that it would be a thoroughly satisfying and mutually beneficial partnership. And we could continue through the school year, which could be incredibly gratifying.”

 

“While it’s impressive and thorough, the sales pitch is unnecessary.” Hermione squeaked. She looked up at him through her eyelashes, blushing furiously. “I was going to ask you the same thing. Just...not right before dinner.”

 

Blaise’s face split wide in a grin, and he placed a hand on her hip and the other gripped her chin, pulling her forward to claim her mouth in an aggressive and enthusiastic kiss that sent electricity flying across Hermione’s spine. She purred and stood on tiptoe to kiss him more thoroughly, mewling with delight when he bit down on her lip and squeezed her arse with his southern hand. 

 

He pulled back a moment later, eyes glittering darkly. “Meet me in my room after dinner?” He asked quietly, dragging his thumb across her jaw. 

 

She bit her lip in regret. “I’m meeting with Pansy after dinner. But as soon as I’m done with her.” Hermione breathed. Blaise leaned down to consume her in another searing kiss.    
  


“I’ll look forward to it.”

* * *

 

Hermione practically dragged Pansy upstairs after dinner (which she’d been somewhat starry-eyed throughout). “What is your  _ hurry? _ ” Pansy whined. Hermione pushed the darker girl into her room, spinning around with an excited grin. 

 

“Blaise asked me to sleep with him.” She squealed. Pansy’s face lit up, but instead of a grin, she was met with a wry smile.

 

“It’s not often that a girl gets that excited about a sexual proposition.” Pansy chuckled. “But hey! Whatever works. Congrats. You’re meeting him after we’re done here?” Hermione nodded vigorously, dancing from foot-to-foot, clearly overloaded with anxious energy. “Would you like a calming draught?” 

 

“No! I don’t need one? Why?”

 

“Because you look like you’re going to vibrate to death.” Pansy sighed. “Chill out, and be cool. You let him make the first move, now you have to take your power back. Don’t be the hunted, be the hunter. Make him shake.”

 

Hermione’s eyes widened, and she shook her head. “I don’t think…”

 

“Don’t think.” Pansy demanded. “The minute  _ you _ think, you overthink. Just feel. And I mean it. You’re worth more than a prize on a shelf. They don’t rule you, you rule them. Show them how privileged they are for every minute with you. It’s fine that you’re excited, but don’t make out like they’re doing you some huge favor. You’re the one doing them a favor, and don’t you fucking forget it.” Hermione nodded hesitantly, and Pansy smiled at her almost fondly. “You ready to get started?” Hermione nodded again, this time more confidently. Pansy took her arm and led her over to the stark white vanity. 

 

“Have you decided what you’re going to do?”

 

“Yeah, I got some ideas from Prim, too. We’re focusing on enhancement. There’s no need to break the perfect canvas when I can just work with what you’ve got.” Hermione blushed (that seemed to be all she was doing today, but her Slytherins seemed to be set on catching her off guard). 

 

“Alright. Have at it.” Hermione said apprehensively, giving her former nemesis a carte blanche. 

 

Pansy set to work immediately. Tilting Hermione’s chair back, she went to work on the girl’s eyebrows. Prim had offered her a hair removal spell that she’d collected from Witch Weekly (which, Pansy had bitterly discovered, was where Prim had found  _ all _ of her superior personal beauty tactics). That was followed by the hair growth charm for her lashes and the bottom layer of her hair. She told Hermione which spells she was using and how as she went, explaining each carefully, since she wanted to avoid waist-length hair growing from her friend’s eyelashes. Then, she started perfecting Hermione’s hair, explaining that it would take about five minutes each morning to maintain its integrity until the magic fully coaxed her follicles into behaving. 

 

A little over half an hour later, Hermione was pushed back up from her reclined position to gaze in the mirror. What she found there wasn’t drastically different, but was  _ drastically _ different. Her eyelashes alone made her eyes look darker and more inviting. Her hair had gone from bushy, somewhat unkempt curls to wild but sleek ringlets; glossy and feral. A grecian lion’s mane. Her eyebrows were perfect and her nails were trimmed and polished expertly (in a pale rose gold). She imagined this was what it was like to put on glasses. She was coming into focus. “I look—”

 

“Don’t. You looked perfect before. You look polished now.” Pansy told her. “Do  _ not _ say you look beautiful as though you didn’t before. That’s bollocks.” Hermione gave her a weak salute. “Good girl. Shall we cover makeup tomorrow?” Hermione nodded, still staring at her reflection. “Excellent. Now get out of my room. Blaise is waiting for you.” Hermione blanched. “Oh, no. What now?”

 

“I can’t wear this!” Hermione squeaked. Pansy glanced down at her. She was wearing some ridiculously form-fitting trousers (they looked stretchy), and a t-shirt. She nodded slowly. 

 

“Want to go big? Or do you want to go grab something from your closet? I have something you can borrow. Or have. I haven’t worn it yet.” She offered. Hermione cocked her head inquisitively, and Pansy wandered to her closet, digging through a drawer for something. When she pulled it out, Hermione’s eyes widened like a deer in the headlights and she spluttered.

 

“I can’t wear that!” She practically shrieked. Pansy lifted an unimpressed eyebrow. 

 

“Why on earth not?”

 

“It’s so...and I’m…”

 

“It’s sexy. You’re sexy. I don’t see the problem.” Pansy said, waving the outstretched item impatiently. “If you’re going to go out, go all out, Granger.” She insisted. 

 

Pansy was proffering a lacy, blush pink bodysuit that was completely see through and tied together with satin bows. It was decadent and indecent, and Hermione was almost afraid of it. “I don’t think I could pull that off.” She mumbled.

 

“I fairly actively disagree. Try it on and see how it feels. If it’s not your cuppa, you can change.” Pansy suggested. “Lingerie does  _ wonders _ for confidence. Especially in the bedroom. I wear one of these every time I have to make a presentation for class. Puts a spring in my step and strengthens my spine, every time.” She said assertively. Gingerly, Hermione reached out to take the skimpy bodysuit, and changed right there in front of Pansy (who casually suggested the same eyebrow-shaping spell for her downstairs grooming). 

 

When Hermione looked into the mirror, fully done-up by Pansy—bodysuit and all—she felt a little thrill in the pit of her stomach. She looked soft, ethereal and sensual. Pansy, as usual, was right. “You’re right.” She murmured, running her fingers over the lace.”

 

“I never say anything unless I’m sure that I’m right.” Pansy agreed. “I don’t like embarrassing myself. Here’s a robe.” She thrust a matching opaque satin robe with lace details. It was exceedingly modest in comparison with the accompanying undergarments, but a far cry sexier than the robes she was used to. “Happy?” Hermione nodded mutely. “Great. Don’t keep Blaise waiting.” She gave Hermione a gentle nudge, and she practically danced to the door.

* * *

 

Blaise was pacing in his room, almost nervous, when the knock came at the door. He was  _ not _ expecting what was awaiting him on the other side. Hermione was there, hands clasped together in front of her looking nervous, but excited. She looked objectively erotic, clad in satin and hair tousled. Her lips were blushing from where she’d undoubtedly been biting them anxiously. Blaise noted absently that her “meeting” with Pansy must have been a low-key makeover, but was rather consumed with the desire to unwrap her robe and artfully ruin the perfect picture before him. 

 

“Can I come in?” She asked quietly. He realized in an embarrassed jolt that he’d been staring at her while blocking the doorway. He stood aside quickly, appreciating the satin’s sway around her hips as she stepped into his bedroom. “You aren’t saying anything.” She uttered nervously. 

 

“I’m a little at a loss for words.” He admitted quietly, eyes darkening as they roved over her. She blushed prettily. “You look stunning.” 

 

“You have Pansy to thank for that.”

 

“A jeweler is nothing without a diamond.” He disagreed, walking closer to her. He took her hand and led her over to the bed which, she realized, was the only spot to sit besides his desk chair. He sat on the bed, pulling her to stand before him. 

 

Hermione leaned forward to kiss him delicately, brushing her lips over his once, then twice, before capturing them more confidently, raising a hand to rest on the nape of his neck. Blaise heard the sound of material fluttering to the floor, brushing his knees and calves on the way down. He pulled back to investigate and growled low in his throat at the sight before him, eyes darkening hungrily in seconds. He pulled her closer, and in one fluid movement he stood and pushed her down onto the bed, crawling over her and fastening his lips to hers insistently. He dragged his hands over the lace at her hips and sides, moulding his body to hers as she moaned into his mouth. 

 

He ground his hips into hers, making sure she knew just how aroused he was, and she moaned even louder. Her hands flew to the hem of his shirt, dragging it up as she skimmed her hands up his abdomen, digging her nails in whenever he bit down on her bottom lip. She tugged at the material in frustration, and he pulled back just long enough to yank the offending material over his head and push her up further on the bed, laying her out picture-perfectly on his bed. He sat back on his heels for a moment, drinking her in. Her curls were rioting wildly across his slate gray pillows, and he was vehemently fighting the urge to rip off her stunning lingerie. “I don’t even know where to start.” He groaned quietly, running her hands across the top of her thighs. He climbed back over her and between her legs, which she immediately wrapped around the backs of his thighs, running the tips of her toes down the back of his calves. She ran her hands up his back, digging her claws into his shoulders with a throaty moan when he nibbled, sucked and bit down on her neck. He inched his hands back up her torso to run his thumbs across the undersides of her breasts in scintillating, feather-light strokes. She arched into his hands, begging him to be more aggressive. He took the cue enthusiastically, gripping her flesh firmly and squeezing, grinding down on her as he went.

 

“Take it off!” She moaned, begging. He immediately went to work, flicking open the hook-clasps deftly, trailing kisses and bites down her torso as her skin was exposed. Her hips jumped up when he reached the sensitive skin just below her navel. He grinned against her skin and brushed another kiss there, revelling in her her gentle moan and bodily response. He hooked his arms around her legs and drew them over his shoulders, grinding his hips into the bed in anticipation for what was going to come next. Hermione’s skin was flushed pink all over and her hips were jumping rhythmically with his attentions. He didn’t think he’d ever been with someone so viscerally responsive. He dragged the flats of his index and middle finger over the outside of her barely covered sex eliciting another, higher pitched and wanton moan from the woman beneath him. He pressed a kiss to her inner thigh before biting down firmly, pushing the heel of his palm firmly against her pussy, which was now hungrily dampening the rosy lace and smearing his hand. She ground down on his hand desperately, reaching down to secure his hand in place insistently, mewling breathily as he rubbed his thumb into her labia just above her clit gently and teasingly. 

 

“I can’t believe that Marcus has been keeping you to himself.” Blaise murmured against her thigh gruffly, sending gentle vibrations through her skin. “Greedy bastard. You’re perfect.” He groaned. He could smell her now, sweet and dripping for him. He pushed the lace aside to reveal her pussy to his hungry eyes. He pressed a gentle, barely-there kiss to her glistening labia and she shivered with a small gasp. “You’ll tell me if you’re uncomfortable?” He asked, hating himself as he did it. 

 

“God, yes, just  _ do _ something!” She pleaded, whimpering. Her grip tightened on his hand, which was now clenched around the outside of her thigh almost viciously. With his free hand, he ran his index finger along the seam of her glistening pussy lips before parting them gently, unveiling her weeping pink opening. He practically dove forward, running his tongue around the rim of her opening and rubbing his thumb around her clit in gentle circles. She released his hand to secure his hands in his hair in a nearly violent attempt to pull him closer, pushing her hips into his face excitedly with another spine-tingling moan. “ _ FUCK _ yes,  _ please!” _ She whined.

 

“Please what?” He murmured against her sex, grinning when she squealed in frustration.

 

“ _ More!  _ Anything, Blaise, please.” 

 

Unable and, frankly, unwilling to deny her, he switched his hand with his mouth, fastening his lips over her swollen clit and dipping a finger into her drenched channel, wrapping his arm around her waist when she nearly bucked him off with a throaty cry. Her legs were trembling now, and her grip on his hair was almost painful. He was so turned on, he was about to come in his pants. He added another finger, revelling in how easily he slipped in, and the tight, warm wetness that was veritably sucking him in deeper. She mewled and purred above him, voice getting breathier and more desperate as he worked. He could feel her inner walls fluttering around his fingers, and he sucked harder on her clit, groaning in satisfaction as her thighs clamped down tighter around his head and a fresh gush of warm fluid hit his fingers and her pussy tightened dramatically, clit pulsating against his tongue and hips jumping erratically against his firm grip. 

 

Then, she was boneless beneath him and he pulled back, drinking in her dishevelment from her tangled hair to her splayed-open bodysuit, to the dreamy, open-mouthed expression painted across her face. Wordlessly, he unzipped his own trousers and pulled out his aching cock. Wordlessly, he reached down and gathered moisture from her still-fluttering pussy, coating his hand with it before wrapping it around his member and stroking it once, then twice. His eyes fluttered shut and with a strangled groan, he came on the third stroke, spilling his load onto her pretty, lace framed stomach. When he opened his eyes, she was watching him an abject fascination and a heated blush. He nearly came again when she ran the tip of her index finger through his cum and brought it to her lips to taste, humming in sensually pleasant surprise at the taste.

 

“Fuck.” He breathed, watching her close her lips around the tip of her finger. “What exactly are you trying to do to me?” She blushed a little brighter, and relaxed back into the pillow. 

 

“I was curious.” She mumbled hoarsely. He closed his eyes, breathing through his nose as he tried to gather some self-restraint. He crawled up the bed to settle beside her, and reached into his bedside to pull out his wand.

 

“Scourgify.” He uttered, watching somewhat disappointedly as his seed disappeared from his skin. “You’re sleeping here tonight.” He told her seriously. She nodded a little hazily, still recovering from her first-ever orgasm, and let him pull her under the covers and cradle her close. “That was the hottest moment of my life.” He told her. She shook her head. “No? Are you  _ telling  _ me it wasn’t?”

 

“I didn’t even do anything.” She muttered, burying her head in his side. 

 

“You got me hard enough to come in three strokes like a prepubescent third year.” He said dryly. “You might be addictive, too. If  _ you _ enjoyed yourself, I’d definitely like to do that again. Like, maybe in ten minutes.”

 

She laughed lightly against his side, pushing a kiss against his ribcage. “I definitely enjoyed myself.”

 

“Excellent. We can try another position.” He grinned. 

 

“I’d like to return the favor, actually.” She smiled up at him shyly, and his jaw dropped. “I’m not really sure how, though…”

 

“I will  _ certainly _ teach you. Assuming I don’t die of a heart-attack first.”

  
  



	24. Welcome Christmas

“You’re here!” Ginny squealed excitedly, launching herself into Hermione’s arms. “Thank  _ god _ . There are  _ so _ many boys in the house right now. Too much.” She shuddered, and Hermione laughed at her antics. 

 

“Good to see you too.” She said, hugging her tight. “What am I walking into?” She asked apprehensively. 

 

“Harry’s had time to calm down. Ron’s furious with you, but that’s because you got him in trouble without even being here. Mum’s just mad at everything, and Sirius is downright jolly. You know how he gets ‘round Christmas.” Ginny rolled her eyes.

 

It was Christmas eve, and she’d arrived just in time to stick her presents under the tree and disappear upstairs if it was too tense. Strategic chimera indeed. “Well then. Let’s get this over with.” She shifted uncomfortably, pulling back from Ginny and allowing her to get a first good look at her friend. She narrowed her eyes.

 

“What did you do?” Ginny demanded. Hermione’s eyebrows shot up.

 

“What? What do you mean?”

 

“You look different.” She said hotly. 

 

“My hair. It’s less bushy.” Hermione mumbled. “I plucked my eyebrows, too.”

 

Ginny gaped at her. “That’s it? Damn. You look  _ amazing _ .” Hermione rolled her eyes. 

 

“I literally just did a hair removal spell and a curling spell.” She muttered, even more uncomfortable.

 

“I dunno. It just...brings you into focus.” Ginny shrugged helplessly, unsure of how to better explain herself. “And your hair looks  _ awesome _ . Like...organized chaos instead of outright chaos.” 

 

“Thanks.” She she smiled, playing with a tendril that had fallen over her shoulder. “I really love it. Pans did a great job.”

 

“You let Pansy take over your beauty regimen?” She huffed. “I’ve been asking for  _ years _ .” 

 

“I had pressing and urgent motivation to follow through.” Hermione mumbled, blushing furiously. Ginny was immediately curious. “I have so much to tell you.” She grinned. 

 

“After dinner?” Ginny asked, excited. Hermione nodded, and led her younger friend down the hall and into the living room, where Sirius had decked out the tallest tree that could possibly fit in the living room. So tall in fact, that the top was bent from where it was pressed up against the ceiling. 

 

“D’you like it?” Sirius asked, barrelling out of nowhere to show off his tree.

 

“Yes, it’s very nice.” Hermione replied placatingly. “But couldn’t you get one that actually fits in the living room?” 

 

“It fits!” He cried, affronted. “Barely, but it does!”

 

“It doesn’t count if the top is folding because the ceiling is in the way!” She laughed. Sirius fell silent for a moment, running his gaze over her, and swore she could actually feel it. After his appraising stare ended in pleased approval, he pointed his wand at the tree.

 

_ “Reducio.” _ He muttered petulantly, and the grand tree shrunk five inches, sitting perfectly straight and shining.

 

“See? Now you have space for a topper.” She cooed. He was still staring at her. She was now officially unnerved. “What?”

 

“Nice hair.” He commented, before turning back to the tree and conjuring a delicate star to rest atop the highest branch. She blushed. Bloody hair was more trouble than it was worth. She turned, and Harry was there, watching her silently. There was a slightly mulish look on his face—his jaw set and eyes narrowed. 

 

“Harry…”

 

“Sirius already explained why you didn’t tell me.” He interrupted her. “I’m very actively working on not being cross with you.”

 

“Okay.” She accepted, understanding that that was the best she could get, and with good reason. It was a tall order to forgive someone who was hiding that they were working on bringing back people from the dead. She got that. 

 

“How’re your parents?” He asked politely. Her stomach churned with guilt. 

 

“They’re fine. Taking the rest of the holidays to go skiing.” She replied truthfully. She’d written them, barely explaining the situation, and saying she’d miss them. They’d written back, sad that she’d be missing Christmas, but understanding if not a touch apprehensive. “They’re getting a little worried about the state of affairs on our end.” She admitted. 

 

“Understandable. Genocide and murder seem like turn offs for parents. At least for the normal ones.” He replied. She choked out a laugh. “I’m glad you’re here.” She strode over to him and wrapped him in a hug. “I know there are things you have to keep from me, but…”

 

“It sucks, I know.” She murmured back. “I hate keeping things from you.”

 

“Just so you know,” he said, pulling back from her. “Ron is a little mental at the moment. Especially when it comes to you. Can’t say your name without him turning purple.” 

 

Hermione grimaced. “Thanks. But that’s really his problem, not mine. I’m not going to let him ruin my Christmas. I’m here for you. And Sirius, and Ginny, and Fred, and George, and Bill. If Bill’s here. Is Bill here?” She asked curiously. Harry nodded. “Great. And Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. If Ron wants to fuck up his own Christmas, that’s his prerogative.” 

 

Harry looked apprehensive, but accepted her logic. 

 

“I do believe…”

 

“We heard our names.” Fred and George, in their usual fashion, appeared with a bang. Harry nearly toppled over, but Hermione barely flinched. 

 

“Hello Fred.” She pulled the twin on the left towards her for a hug, then repeated the action for the twin on the right. “George.” The tips of their ears turned a little pink, but they gave her matching grins. 

 

“If it isn’t our newfound master troublemaker.” Fred said, voice roiling with mirth.

 

“Causing chaos in true Gryffindor fashion—driving people apart through honesty, love and loyalty.” George finished, gripping his chest dramatically. Hermione rolled her eyes. 

 

“I can hardly claim responsibility for the things that happened  _ to _ me.” She chuckled. 

 

“Ripping families apart.”

 

“Breaking hearts.”

 

“Destroying pride.”

 

“Busting Balls.” They continued, growing more and more animated as they continued. Ginny was out-and-out laughing now. 

 

“Oh  _ come on _ .” She cried. “I didn’t  _ do _ anything! I just told him that I couldn’t tell me who to spend my time with and that I categorically refused to be a slave to his temper. Oh, and I mentioned that using untested spells was a bad idea. And honestly, it’s not like that was poor advice. Even  _ you two _ test your spells before using them on unsuspecting passers-by.”

 

“Oh but that’s not why he called you a cheap whore, Hermione.” Ginny reminded her. Honestly, she’d forgotten. She wondered if that was because she was so overloaded with everything else, or because she genuinely didn’t care. Fred and George, on the other hand, looked appalled. It was a strange look for them.

 

“Excuse me?” Fred asked quietly. Hermione shifted uncomfortably, not quite ready to stir the pot. She knew that Molly and Arthur knew about her struggles with their son, and she’d incorrectly assumed that the knowledge would carry the way it did at Hogwarts—swiftly and without mercy. 

 

“Uh...I’d been gone with Gin for a while and he asked me where I was, but it had to do with my assignment, so I told him I’d been in the Room of Requirement, but I had a hickey and he exploded on me. Like when you add too much pine root to a swelling potion.” She grimaced. 

 

“He called you a whore for getting a hickey? George, we could have made a mint by now if that were the bar we had to clear.” Fred sneered. George laughed darkly. “What a fucking joke.”

 

“On a more interesting note,” George inserted himself, shooting a sly glance at his brother. Hermione shuddered apprehensively. Whatever they were planning next was  _ bound  _ to be miserable. “Who exactly were you getting hot and heavy with?” He smiled widely, like the cat who’d cornered the canary. Hermione straightened imperiously, tossing her hair behind her shoulder as she went. 

 

“That is  _ none _ of your business. And it categorically irrelevant to my lovelife, so really not of interest to you.” She sniffed. They both raised their eyebrows in surprise. 

 

“Are you engaging in  _ casual flings _ , Miss Granger?” Fred crooned, grinning mischievously. Harry cleared his throat uncomfortably. 

 

“She’s looking all grown up and flirty, Freddie.” George said flirtatiously, leaning a little closer. He yelped when she reached up and flicked him on the nose. “And still certainly out of our league.” He grumbled, rubbing the darkening red spot where her nail had made contact. Ginny and Sirius were both sniggering behind them. “Oh right, like you two could be much better.” He groused.

 

“Mione’s not really my type. I like my ladies a little more angry.” Ginny grinned. Fred, George and Harry’s faces went brilliant red—the twins with discomfort and Harry’s with shock. 

 

“And your mother would flambe my balls for dessert for even  _ looking  _ at Hermione. Sorry kitten.” Sirius winked roguishly, and Hermione went a little pink. 

 

“If that’s the only reason you’re not putting your name in the ring, bully our mother.” Fred laughed. Harry was turning purple, and she placed a reassuring hand on his back.

 

“He’s joking, Harry.” Hermione rolled her eyes. “You should know that by now.” Harry nodded hurriedly, not wanting to linger on the subject. The fact of the matter was that Sirius was her friend, her mentor, and her teammate. Not to mention, her best friend’s godfather, and literally old enough to be her father. Not that age was much of a consideration in the wizarding world, but still.

 

Her crush on him (and the weird way her stomach tightened when he called her ‘kitten’) aside, she didn’t think that a sexual relationship with Sirius was in the cards, and she wasn’t often wrong. 

 

“This invasion of my privacy and discretion has been lovely, but shall we move on?” She asked in slightly clipped tones. She reached into her beaded bag and started stuffing gifts under the tree—one for everyone, even a small, poorly wrapped one for Ron. “Is Professor Lupin going to be here? Have you seen him yet?” She asked Sirius.

 

He nodded. “I uh...I went about it a bit wrong.” He grimaced. “I approached my return like a marauder, not a dead man.”

 

“What does that mean?” She asked apprehensively. Fred and George were already sniggering behind her, and Harry, though still bright red, was grinning. 

 

He cleared his throat, sheepish and somewhat ashamed. She didn’t think she’d ever seen him ashamed before. “I flooed to his place and had a cuppa in his living room while I waited for him to come home. That’s how he found me.” Hermione’s jaw dropped. “Hey, I was going for shock value.”

 

“Shock value. He thought you were dead, and you decided to go for  _ shock value?” _ She shrieked. Sirius winced at the volume. “Are you  _ insane?  _ He could have killed you! AGAIN!” She graduated from a shriek to a bellow. 

 

“Well he gave me a stunning black eye and had me trussed up like a roast pig when he delivered me to Dumbledore claiming that a spy had broken into his flat.” Sirius groused. 

 

“ _ AND HE WAS BLOODY WELL JUSTIFIED!”  _

 

“Oi! Stop yelling! You’ll wake up my mother!”

 

“Oh throw some paint thinner on the bitch and grow some common sense!” She hollered. She didn’t even notice Harry going rigid beside her. “What kind of barmy moron do you have to be to break into the house of a trained duelist, Auror and  _ werewolf _ who thinks you’re  _ dead _ without any warning?” 

 

“An extremely barmy moron!” He yelled back. “I know that now!”

 

“Hermione!” Harry yelled, halting their conversation short. Hermione whirled on him, eyes blazing, but faltered when she saw his face. Cautious elation was the best way she knew how to describe the expression on his face. 

 

“What?” She snapped. “I’m trying to teach your godfather to use his braincells for something other than starting unnecessary fires.” She ignored Sirius as he spluttered. 

 

“You’re  _ brilliant! _ ” He hissed, eyes wide in wonder. 

 

“And this is...a recent discovery for you?” George asked cautiously, wondering if Harry was secretly as dense as Hagrid’s rock cakes. 

 

“Shut it, George.” Ginny shushed him. 

 

“Why am I brilliant?” She asked impatiently. She wanted to get back to chewing out her ‘mentor’. He scurried over to her and whispered in her ear. Her eyes widened, too. “That’s too simple.” She muttered. “He must have tried it already.”

 

“But what if he didn’t? We should try it! Like...a Christmas present.” He suggested, eyes alight. Slowly, a grin spread over her face, and she nodded enthusiastically. “We have to take a field trip into Muggle London.” He told the room. “We’ll be back later.”

 

“Oi! You’re not going out alone!” Sirius barked, feeling suddenly neglected and just a touch irritated. 

 

“You’re right, of course.” Hermione smiled placatingly. “Fred, George. Would you accompany us to a muggle hardware store?” She asked sweetly. Sirius’ lips pursed sourly. 

 

“Why of course, darling.” Fred crooned. 

 

“Shall we away?” George said, holding his arm out to her gallantly. She took it with a chuckle, and before Sirius could protest, they were gone. 

 

“Not that I don’t trust Fred and George, but I really hate the idea of her being out there without trained security.” Sirius told Ginny, face settling into a grimace. 

 

“You can’t treat her differently.” Ginny warned. “She’ll hate you for it.”

 

“I don’t care if she hates me. I care that she survives. If Dolohov is gunning for her…”

 

“Keep your voice down. And let her make her own decisions.” Ginny snapped. “She can take care of herself, and even if she can’t, she can at least choose. Wouldn’t you have preferred if someone had given you that choice?” She demanded. Reluctantly, he nodded. “Listen, protect her all you want, but not the way mum does. Don’t hide her and try to keep her under lock and key. Stick beside her and have her back. She would step over her own parents bodies to stay in the fight.”

 

“Yeah, I know.” Sirius grunted. “I’ll just feel better about it once we’ve nailed Dolohov to the wall.”

 

“We all will.” Ginny assured him. “Let’s just...do something else while we wait for them to get back.” She suggested.

 

“Alright.” He thought for a moment, then smiled wryly. “So. Do you want to tell me about this angry woman of yours before Harry and your brothers get back?”

 

“I was hoping we could play chess.”

* * *

 

“What the bleeding hell is paint thinner?” Fred demanded. They were searching for it in a hardware store...that they had broken into. Of course, they were planning on leaving money in the till for it, but all of the hairs on Hermione’s neck were standing up.

 

“It’s a muggle corrosive that’s specifically made to remove paint.” Hermione explained. 

 

“Once, the Dursleys had me paint the living room after Dudley kicked a hole in the wall and have it spackled. I spilled half of it on the floor because I was like...ten. Knelt in the awful stuff for hours while I mopped it all up.” Harry told them absently. Hermione’s nose wrinkled in distaste. What was  _ with _ all the abusive adults in their lives?

 

“What’s awful about it?”

 

“It smells like death.” Hermione snorted. “Sour, grating death.” George wrinkled his nose. “And, if you’re directly exposed to it for too long, it can literally melt your skin.”

 

“That’s terrible.” Fred wrinkled his nose. “Why are we buying this stuff?”

 

“If it melts skin, can you imagine what it does to paint?” Harry grinned wickedly. “We’re getting Sirius a Christmas present.”

 

“A skin-melting, paint-melting muggle potion? What could Sirius possibly want with that?” George asked a little weakly. Hermione rolled her eyes.

 

“Honestly, you two. You’re smarter than this. Who does Sirius hate more than anyone in the entire world, dead or alive.”

 

“His mum.” They answered together. Their eyes widened in tandem. “ _ Oh.” _

 

She stared at them for a moment. “You two know that it’s creepy when you do that talking-at-the-same-time thing, right?”

 

They both looked highly offended. “It’s  _ charming _ .” Fred said hotly.

 

“ _ We’re twins. _ ” George finished. 

 

“Just because you’re twins, doesn’t mean you’re the same.” She rolled her eyes. They both shifted uncomfortably. Besides Ginny, Hermione happened to be the only person who could tell them apart immediately, and they’d never been able to figure out how. 

 

“Found it!” Harry called, holding up the rectangular can triumphantly. 

 

“Perfect. It’s a big painting. Get ten.” She instructed. Harry’s grin widened further, and he enthusiastically did as she instructed. “There may be a permanent sticking charm on that canvas, but I’m melting that bitch’s mouth off.” She said with venomous pleasure. Harry secretly loved it when Hermione showed her vengeful side. In a different world, he imagined that she would be another almost-Slytherin, and that they would be fatefully side by side no matter which house they were tossed to. Of course, he didn’t quite have the prowess for Ravenclaw, so that was off the table. 

 

“Can we watch?” Fred and George asked hopefully.

* * *

 

Sirius woke slowly the next morning. He and Ginny had stayed up late playing chess and waiting for the others to return home, but to no avail. It was the longest late-night shopping trip Sirius had ever tried to wait through.

 

He trudged down the stairs and to the kitchen, where Hermione was already up and sipping a piping hot cup of coffee. “Make any extra?” He grunted. She flicked her wand at the coffee pot, and it poured him a full, steaming mugful. “Thanks.”

 

“Merry Christmas.” She smiled at him. Her hair was pinned up and she was wearing a thigh-length satin robe that he’d certainly never seen before. He unwittingly found himself wishing that he were a younger man, and that she were his Christmas present. She looked positively bed-worthy. 

 

“Merry Christmas.” He murmured back. “I have to ask. Why the makeover?”

 

She sipped her coffee thoughtfully. “It wasn’t really a full makeover. Pansy wouldn’t even think of it. If I’d been in Prim’s hands, I’d probably have straight hair and permanent makeup. I just wanted to polish myself a little. I’m seventeen. I need to look like an adult.”

 

Sirius frowned. “You’re sixteen.” He disagreed. “You’re a month younger than Harry.”

 

“I  _ was _ a month younger than Harry. Until my third year.” She winked. 

 

“The time turner.” He muttered, feeling a little stupid for not realizing. 

 

“The time turner.” She agreed. “And even if I were sixteen, it can’t hurt to take a little care for my appearance. Gives me a little kick of confidence, makes people take notice. I don’t  _ need it _ , but it doesn’t hurt.” She explained. 

 

“Well, you look great.” He told her. “Fetching, really. I hope you didn’t do it for a boy.”

 

She shook her head. “I did it for the confidence. It doesn’t hurt the lovelife, though.” She blushed. “But any intimacy at this point is largely utilitarian. Stress relief and meeting basic human need.”

 

“Very sensible.” He said amusedly. “And entirely unromantic.” 

 

“When this is all over, I’ll have plenty of time for romance.” She said confidently. He grinned at her fondly. “What about you, Sirius. I’ve heard you were a ladies man in your school days, but I’ve never heard any names from then or the years after.”

 

Sirius shifted, casting his eyes downward. “Everything was romantic when I was in school. Everything was exciting and covert and wild. Then, just three years after we graduated, I was sent to Azkaban, and I spent twelve years there. Then I was on the run, then I was in hiding. Then I de-facto died.” He shrugged. “There wasn’t much time for real romance. Not the lasting kind.”

 

“Not even one?” She asked, sad and quiet. 

 

“There was one. I thought we would get married.” He admitted. “Marlene McKinnon. We dated towards the end of our time at Hogwarts, and it was rocky at first. I kept coming back to her, though. She was just...a beautiful person. Inside and out. And she put up with so much from me, and I changed for her. Then, right when I was starting to consider proposing to her, she was murdered.” He practically whispered. 

 

“Sirius…”

 

“I don’t talk about this often.”

 

“And you don’t have to.”

 

“No, it’s good. I’m shoddy at letting people see my underbelly.” He smiled self-deprecatingly. “Only Remus knew how serious I was about Marlene, and only he knows how much it killed me when she died. It’s probably why he thought I’d turned on them. He knew I was unstable. It’s why I went after Peter instead of going for Harry. I’ve regretted that for fifteen years. And if you’re going to essentially be my partner, you should know as much about me as possible. You should know what keeps me calm, and what sets me off. People I love in danger, that sets me off.”

 

Hermione nodded in understanding—at least as much understanding as she could possibly have without knowing about her own assault and his knowledge of it. 

 

“I’m sorry you’ve lost so much, Sirius. Sometimes I forget how much you’ve been through. You put on such a brave face.” She murmured. 

 

“We all have crosses to bear. It’s how we bear them that defines us.” He told her. 

 

“Well, hopefully I can give you some Christmas cheer after this uplifting conversation.” She snarked. He barked out a laugh. That reminded her: “Did you coach the Pit members into becoming unregistered animagi?” She demanded. His eyes widened at her change in tone—from soft and understanding to sharp and scolding.

 

“Yeah, I taught Strike and Espionage. Seemed practical.” He explained quickly, slightly afraid of the little witch before him. He couldn’t quite tell if she was glaring at him or examining him.

 

“Could you teach me too?” She asked finally, deflating. He grinned at her, surprised. 

 

“Aren’t you becoming quite the little rule-breaker.” He teased. “Yeah, of course.”

 

“Thanks.” She blushed.

 

“PRESENTS!” Ginny hollered, flying through the kitchen. “IT’S TIME FOR PRESENTS!” Hermione jumped about a foot in the air at the unexpected change in volume.    
  


“For christ’s sake, Ginny, don’t  _ do _ that!” She hissed. Sirius chuckled. 

 

“Come  _ on! _ ” Ginny whined, pulling her arm insistently. “I got Ron out of bed, it’s time for  _ presents! _ ”

 

“Yes, all right!” Hermione laughed, following her excitable friend into the living room, Sirius trailing behind them laughing. She was surprised when she saw the tree—more presents had materialized beneath it overnight. “There are so many!” 

 

“I KNOW!” Ginny cried elatedly. “I love presents.” She sighed dreamily. Everyone was crammed in the living room, even Remus. Harry and Ginny got down on hands and knees to pass out gifts. Hermione stared in confusion as her pile got larger and larger. There were only ten people in the room, and her pile was steadily reaching twenty. Ginny and Sirius seemed to be facing the same. They were getting confused glances, but all three of them seemed to understand what was happening at the same time. These were gifts from the Pit, undoubtedly delivered by Etty the house-elf.

 

Hermione dug into her gifts, and was shocked and immensely pleased. Harry had gotten her a book called ‘Potions for the Every Day Potioneer’, and Ginny had bought her a small collection of rare potions ingredients. It had probably cost her a small fortune. Then, she realized that she’d probably extorted the money from the twins somehow, and she felt less bad. Sirius had given her a collection of his favorite muggle literature, Molly had knitted her a sweater, Arthur had given her a ladle shaped like a stegosaurus, and the twins had given her a collection of their products ranging from Skiving Snackboxes to Patented Daydream Charms. 

 

The presents out of the Pit were exquisite, but all unlabeled. She tried her best to interpret who had given her what, but largely failed. The obvious ones were stunning. Pansy had given her ten sets of robes—five casual robes made from various colors of Dupioni Silk, three sets of intimate robes (with matching lingerie) made from silk, lace and satin, and two pairs of dress robes made from raw silk and brocade respectively. “Those are stunning.” Ginny and Fleur cooed, running their hands over the fabric. 

 

Ron looked a little sour at the gift, but Harry’s brow was just furrowed in confusion. Sirius’ face was schooled into blankness. She opened her next gift—a thick needle, a reinforced jar of a thick black liquid, and a sketching pad. It was from Grin, and it was a tattooing kit. She grinned. There was also a set of hand scrawled instructions on how to use them as she had. Blaise had gotten her a delicate silver necklace with a small but vibrant pendant made from a larger vibrant green stone surrounded with smaller black stones. Marcus had gotten her a quartz athame. She recognized Calendula and Theomer’s gift: Dragonhide gloves and jacket from an Atessan Dragon—the last flourishing species in Italy. The rest, she couldn’t discern. In no particular order, they had gotten her an ancient tome that looked like an original text on ancient rituals, books called ‘Dark Curses and Counter Curses: Defense by Offense’ and ‘The Master’s Guide to Healing and Nourishing’, a brand new copper cauldron, as well as a high-end collapsible cauldron, a boline, a variety of expertly-crafted bottles, and a marble mortar and pestle; and what looked like a miniature broom with a book called ‘Learning to Fly without Fear’. 

 

“Who are those from?” Ron asked mulishly. 

 

“Friends.” Hermione replied, running her fingers over the athame almost lovingly. 

 

“What friends have you suddenly got who can afford those?” He demanded. Molly had the good grace to clip him around the ear. “Ginny’s got a bunch of that expensive rubbish, too!” He complained loudly. “It’s not unreasonable to wonder where they came from.”

 

“It is if it’s none of your business.” Hermione told him sourly. Sirius was quiet, and she turned to see what loot he’d raked in from his younger teammates. He was clutching an intricately embossed wand holster made from buckskin. The animations showed a wolf, a dog, and a stag staring at the moon. The poor man looked close to tears. Somewhere behind her, Ron was near-shouting, but that was nothing new. “Harry?” 

 

“Yeah?”

 

“I think it’s time to give Sirius his last present.” She said quietly. He looked up at her, eyes somewhat watery, and cocked his head curiously. Sometimes it astounded her how doglike he really was. Remus was giving them a similar stare. “Actually, it’s kind of a present to all of us, so everyone, could you follow us into the hallway?”

 

They shuffled into the hallway, where Walburga Black’s portrait was covered by it’s thick, musty velvet curtain. “Sirius, would you like to do the honors?” Harry asked, grinning. 

 

“What honors? Listening to my mother shout at me?” He mumbled, still a little emotionally overcome. 

 

“Open it.” Hermione encouraged him. Frowning, now certainly confused, and surrounded by people even more confused than him, he wrapped his hand around the rope fastening, braced himself for the onslaught, and pulled. 

 

“What?” He gasped. He was met by an empty frame. “Where is she?” He croaked. With nearly identical grins, Harry and Hermione pulled the cans of paint thinner from behind their backs and held them out in front of him. 

 

“Your mother hated muggles. To the point where she never expected muggleborns to step foot into Grimmauld Place. As such, she neglected to protect her permanently stuck portrait from muggle paint removal methods.” Hermione chirped. He took the can from her, turning it over in his hands and glancing from it to the melted canvas and back again. 

 

“She’s gone?” He whispered. Hermione nodded. “You melted her?” She nodded again. Then with an almighty whoop, he launched himself at Harry and Hermione, tackling them to the ground in a hug. Above them, the rest of the Christmas-goers were cheering, and Remus was smiling brilliantly, almost crying. “Thank you.” He breathed. “Thank you so much.”

 

“Anytime.” Hermione groaned, winded. “But you’re crushing me.” He scrambled off her quickly. “It was time for her to go.” She smiled smugly once she’d caught her breath.

 

“Way past time for her to go. And now, Tonks can trip in the hall as often as she wants!” Harry said cheerily. “Merry Christmas!”

 

“Merry Christmas.” Sirius breathed. 


	25. Reconciliation and Turbulence

 

Grimmauld Place was so much louder without Mrs. Black affixed to the wall. There was, for the most part, a sort of boisterous merriment that was carrying all the way into New Year’s Day. It was the morning of the 28th, and Hermione was in the living room in front of a fire, tucked into blankets with a cuppa and a book. Ron had ignored her as he trudged into the kitchen, where his mother was already making breakfast for the whole brood.

 

“Morning, Granger.” Fred greeted her a little blearily but still cheerily. She smiled.

 

“Morning, Fred.” She greeted, snapping her book shut. George sautered down a moment later, and she greeted him too. It was a pleasant, quiet sort of conversation—the type that only she seemed to be able to coax from the twins.

 

“Can’t you tell us what you’re up to?” George asked, sipping the coffee he’d summoned (somewhat dangerously) from the kitchen.

 

“Nope.” She grinned, popping the ‘p’. “And even if I could without betraying Dumbledore’s trust, do you honestly think I’d trust you two with it?”

 

“Excuse me.” Fred huffed. “We are the best miscreants to plague the Hogwarts halls since Sirius Black himself. We have a code. If you haven’t been caught, don’t talk. We don’t snitch and we don’t crack.”

 

“Well, then.” She smiled slyly, a mischievous twinkle in her eye. “Maybe I learned something from you two.” Fred’s mouth dropped to argue, but came up short. A moment later, Ron was barging back out of the kitchen.

 

“Good morning Won-Won.” George practically bellowed. Ron jumped a mile, face turning puce with embarrassment.

 

“Won-Won?” Hermione asked. “I preferred Ronniekins.” She sniffed.

 

“That’s what his girlfriend called him!” Fred hooted. Hermione jolted. She knew nothing about a girlfriend.

 

“What girlfriend?” She asked dumbly. Fred and George offered her matching looks of delighted surprise. Ron just glowered.

 

“None of your fucking business.” He growled.

 

“Lavender Brown.”George said gleefully. Hermione pulled a face of disgust.

 

“Oh,god. She calls you Won-Won? How demeaning.”

 

“At least she actually wants me around.” Ron sneered. “At least she talks to me.”

 

“You didn’t want me to talk to you, Ron, you wanted to have access to parts of my life that I’m not allowed nor do I want to share with you. What you actually want is someone who will follow along behind you and lick your arse when you ask them. Congrats. Lavender is certainly that person.” She sneered back.

 

“Don’t you fucking talk about her like that you bitch…” Hermione flicked her wand at him, silencing him for the second time.

 

“I already told you I won’t be spoken to like that.” Hermione said. “I’m sorry you don’t want to hear the truth, Ronald, but honestly. I never said I didn’t want you around. I only asked you not to pry. I gave you a choice, and you chose to be eliminated from my life. You also chose to keep things from me. Namely your relationship.”

 

“Oh, it didn’t start long enough ago that you were still talking.” Ginny assured her, coming out of the kitchen.

 

“Oh. Alright, I take that bit back.” Hermione conceded to the still silenced ginger. “But the rest stands. I won’t be called foul names. I get that enough for my birthright. The next time, I’ll do more than silence you.” She promised menacingly.

 

After he stomped away, making as much noise as he could while silenced, Ginny turned to her, brimming with malicious glee. “You should see the necklace she gave him for Christmas.” She hooted.

* * *

 

Sirius stepped out of the floo and into Remus’ tiny flat. It was sparsely furnished, but crammed with books, teacups and half-full chocolate wrappers. “Moony?” He called into the house. A moment later, the door to the bedroom swept open and Remus walked out, rumpled and grumpy looking. “Morning.”

 

“Morning.” He uttered back. He couldn’t quite meet Sirius’ eyes. “Everything alright?”

 

Sirius frowned. “Of course. Why, does something need to be wrong for me to come over?”

 

“Of course not.” Remus denied, busying himself by making tea.

 

Sirius studied his friend closely, taking in his stiff shoulders and clipped answers. “I don’t buy it.”

 

“You don’t buy what?”

 

“I’ve known you since we were 11, Remus. I know when you’re holding something back, and I know when something’s shoved up your arse. Out with it.”

 

“I’m just readjusting. I’ll be fine.” Remus waved him off.

 

“Bullshit.”

 

“It’s not bullshit, Pads.” Remus snapped, finally whirling around to stare him full in the face. “I thought I had lost everyone who’d made me feel worthwhile. And then you came back. I mourned you. That loss might have been temporary, but it was still real. I’m coming to terms with you being back the same way I came to terms with you being gone. Do you want to know how I did that?” He demanded.

 

“How.” Sirius growled.

 

“Alone.”

 

Sirius stepped back, surprised. “What do you mean, alone? There were plenty of people who could have helped you through it. Harry, Hermione,Ron, Tonks…”

 

“Harry and them knew you for two years. Tonks barely knew you at all, and even so, none of them knew what it was like to lose a brother.” Remus shouted. “The only one who came close was Molly after she’d lost Gideon and Fabian, but she was practically celebrating your death and I had to keep myself from killing her. And the guilt, Sirius. For believing that you’d handed over Lily and James, believing that you’d killed Peter. For not even trying to get you out so that you could live.”

 

“I never blamed you for that!” Sirius said incredulously, moving around the counter to stand in front of his friend who seemed close to unravelling.

 

“Bully for you, Sirius, but I blamed me.” Remus argued. “I just need time.”

 

“Or exposure.” Sirius suggested. “I’d like to have you around.”

 

 

“I don’t know.”

 

 

“Come on, Moony.” Sirius pleaded. “These are dangerous times. We don’t know how much time we have together. I’ve already died once. We have no idea when it’ll happen again.”

 

“For the record, if it happens within the next six months, I’m going to kill you.”

 

“I’ll already be dead.”

 

“But going on your current track record, you’ll pop back up eventually. I’ll be waiting with a sword. Or something equally dramatic."

 

“That seems fair.” He admitted. “C’mon Moony.” He repeated beseechingly. “I hate it when you’re sour at me. It makes me feel like a prick, even when I haven’t done anything.”

 

“That’s because you usually have.” Remus reminded him dryly. “But fine. I’ll…try for exposure therapy.”

 

“Brilliant!” Sirius grinned before flopping onto a sofa. “So what have you been up to?”

 

“Trying to recruit werewolves.” He muttered, annoyed. “There are a few in France that seem promising, but they’re not like me, so they don’t really trust me.” He melted from a mutter into a grumble, irritation souring his tone.

 

“What do you mean they’re not like you?” Sirius frowned. 

 

“They’re not the same species of werewolf. They don’t shift the same way.” He explained, frustrated. “They can shift at will. They moon affects them, but they can keep their faculties about them with enough self control and practice. They don’t completely change form unless they’re powerful enough. All members of a pack are stronger together, not just the Alpha.” He sighed. “They’re all from muggle families. They have nothing to do with the wizarding world, and they have nothing to do with me. Not to mention, a ludicrous number of them are American.”

 

“Sounds…weird.” Sirius scrunched his face. “What are the drawbacks?”

 

“For them? Hunters. Apparently there are fucking legions of muggle werewolf hunters.” Remus sighed. 

 

“So offer them protection.” Sirius suggested slowly. “Find ways for them to live peacefully, and ways for them to escape. In exchange for their help.” 

 

“They’re muggles, Pads.” Remus grunted. “They can’t learn to defend themselves in the kind of war we’re fighting.”

 

“But they could take out the underlings.” Sirius murmured. Remus winced. It always made him uncomfortable when Sirius displayed his long-repressed inner dark wizard. It helped that the man used it for good, but it caught him off guard when his loud, boisterous companion turned sly and quiet, plotting and methodical. 

 

“They’d be cannon fodder.” Remus argued. 

 

“Better cannon fodder and destroy Voldemort than alive for when he takes control.” Sirius replied. Remus could feel the undercurrent of self-loathing for even suggesting it, but the veneer of necessity that overtook it. The worst part was that Remus knew he was right. 

 

“I know. So what, we set up safe houses for them? One per pack? One per person? Concealment?”

 

“All of it. But if they’re stronger in packs, then one per pack makes more sense. I have the specifications for a warded safe house that will add rooms as it collects residents.” Sirius offered. “We can work from there in negotiations.”

 

Remus examined him suspiciously. “Why do you have those specs? You have Grimmauld.” 

 

Sirius grimaced, shooting Remus a guilty look. “That secret assignment that Albus had me working on before I died. Involves a safe house.” He explained. 

 

“The top secret one.” Remus remembered. “The one that had you coming and going at all hours despite the need for you to be on house arrest. The one with all of the medical potions and black market deals.”

 

“That’s the one.” He confirmed uncomfortably. 

 

“Well you’re not on that assignment now, are you?” Remus questioned. “You are.” He intoned when Sirius wouldn’t meet his eyes. “You’re not going to tell me about it?”

 

Sirius gnawed his lip guiltily. “It’s just…If any of it gets further than you, a lot of people land in serious shit.” He explained. 

 

“Name the last secret I spilled.” Remus frowned, offended. 

 

“Yeah, I know, you’re a vault.” Sirius grimaced. “But you’ve also never been captured.”

 

“Come off it.”

 

Sirius hesitated, but Remus could already see him crumbling. “It’s the same assignment Hermione has. I’m in more of a supervisory role now, but I’m hands-on. It’s a team of Slytherins.” Remus raised his eyebrows, but waited for him to continue. “Fifteen former Slytherin students—well, not all former—who’ve turned-coat on their families and are working as researchers, spies, and an assassination crew.” He grimaced as though releasing the information pained him. 

 

“Sirius…” Remus breathed, eyes wide. “That’s brilliant. Insane, but…brilliant.”

 

“Wasn’t my idea. One of the actual members came up with it and started recruiting. Six years ago.”

 

“And this is what Hermione’s been working on? Recruitment? Research?” Sirius nodded in confirmation. “Who came up with it?”

 

Sirius shifted uncomfortably. “She’s a disowned daughter of a prominent death eater. I don’t know which one. She’s been in disguise for years and frankly, I have no interest in finding out until it’s safe. Brilliant girl. Caring, smart, razor sharp. She was dealt a terrible hand, but she did something great with it.”

 

“Not many pureblood children have been disowned over the years.” Remus murmured. 

 

“More than you think.” Sirius disagreed. “And purebloods are notoriously good at wiping the public memory of their children out of existence. I’m lucky I was so high profile. If I were a Slytherin when I’d made my choice, I’d probably be dead or forgotten by now.” He said sourly.

 

“I didn’t realize.” Remus replied apologetically. Sirius waved him off. “Let me know if I can help, yeah?”

 

“Of course. And I’ll get those specs to you. We need all the help we can get.”

 

“Maybe we can…use your secret faction as their points of contact.” Remus replied thoughtfully. Sirius frowned. “Pass it by Hermione, of course, but maybe they can share a safe house network. Check in on each other. Your faction can be their handlers, and teach them what they can.”

 

“I’ll run it by them.” Sirius offered. “They’re a secretive lot, but muggle werewolves might be okay.” 

 

* * *

 

“So you slept with Blaise last night.” Ginny recounted, leaning forward and grinning widely. They had absconded to Hermione’s room, locked the door and thrown up a silencer for good measure. 

 

“We didn’t have sex. We basically did everything but, though.” Hermione blushed. 

 

“Brilliant.” Ginny squealed. “How was it?” She prodded, digging for details. 

 

“Amazing. Exactly what I was looking for. Marcus was treating me like glass, and I just…wanted to know how to push him forward, but he just blew my expectations clean out of the water.” She sighed, remembering the determined way he chased her pleasure.

 

“How did he start?”

 

“He ate me out. I showed up at his door in something Pansy lent me…”

 

“Like one of the intimate robes she sent?” 

 

Hermione nodded. “This dusty pink lacy thing, and he just stared at me for a second before taking me over to the bed. Then when he saw what was under the robe, he _growled_ and just…flipped us around, pushed me down on the bed and _devoured_ me.” She shuddered at the memory.

 

Ginny gaped. “How do you feel about sharing?” She choked out. 

 

“Honestly?” Hermione raised an eyebrow. Ginny shrugged. “I mean, sure. I’m not…into him romantically or anything. Really, I’m not. Go for it.”

 

“Maybe we can have a threesome.” Ginny waggled her eyebrows. 

 

“Definitely not ready for that.” Hermione laughed. “But honestly, this…arrangement in the Pit, I think it’s good. Low stakes, high reward stress relief with the understanding that we can’t hold what happens against each other.” She smiled. 

 

“I know what you mean.” Ginny agreed. “Pansy. I slept with Pansy and everything is totally normal. In fact, we might work better together now, especially since I know it’s just stress relief for her.”

 

“Exactly.” Hermione’s brow furrowed. “Although, I think Amalia and Theomer might be an actual item. I’ve only ever seen them shack up with each other. And they seem really close. The only person Lia is closer to is Grin.”

 

“How’s she doing?” Ginny asked softly. 

 

“Better.” Hermione confirmed. “I gave a rousing motivational speech while we watched Jurassic Park. It was great. She’s focused on figuring out if she’s been burned, now.”

 

“Brilliant.”

 

They headed downstairs sometime later to find Harry, Sirius and Remus in the sitting room. “Have you ever heard of someone called the Half-Blood Prince?” She heard Harry ask. She saw red, and made to storm into the room, but Ginny grabbed her arm.

 

“They might know something.” Ginny whispered. Reluctantly, Hermione nodded. 

 

“The Half-Blood what?” Sirius sputtered.

 

“Prince,” Said Harry, watching him closely for signs of recognition. 

 

“There are no Wizarding princes,” said Lupin, now smiling. “Is this a title you’re thinking of adopting?”

 

“I should have thought being ‘the Chosen One’ would be enough.” Sirius snorted.

 

“It’s nothing to do with me!” said Harry indignantly. “The Half-Blood Prince is someone who used to go to Hogwarts, I’ve got his old Potions book. He wrote spells all over it, spells he invented. One of them was Levicorpus—“

 

“Oh, that one was popular while we were in school.” Sirius sighed, reminiscing. “There were a few months in our fifth year where you couldn’t move for being hoisted in the air by your ankle.” Hermione bristled. Idiots, the lot of them.

 

“My dad used it.” Harry said. “I saw him in the Pensieve. He used it on Snape.” Ginny gasped, and Hermione frowned. He hadn’t told her that.

 

Remus’ smile was a little too understanding, and Sirius just looked confused. “He wasn’t the only one. Like I said, it was terribly popular.” He said slowly. 

 

“It sounds like it was invented while you were in school.”

 

“Not necessarily. Jinxes go in and out of fashion just like everything else.” Remus told him quietly. “James was a pureblood, Harry. I promise you, he never asked us to call him ‘Prince.’” 

 

“And it wasn’t either of you?”

 

“Definitely not.” Sirius told him, finally understanding his Godson’s line of questioning. “How old is the book, Harry?”

 

“Dunno. Haven’t checked.” He sounded dejected now, and Hermione’s heart went out to him. He’d been hoping for one more level of connection to his father. 

 

“Well, perhaps that will give you some clue as to when the Prince was at Hogwarts.” Lupin suggested. He nodded, and the two girls decided that they could step into the room. 

 

“Hey.” Hermione greeted him. Harry winced. From her tone of voice alone, he could tell she’d eavesdropped. There was an undercurrent of annoyance for the sole fact of the Prince’s existence, but mostly sadness on his behalf.

 

“‘Lo.” He replied. 

 

At that moment, Fleur began to imitate Celestina Warback’s singing, belting “A Cauldron Full of Hot, Strong Love” at the top of her voice. Hermione grimaced. “She doesn’t really recognize a landmine when she sees one, does she?” She observed apprehensively. 

 

Molly burst out of the kitchen and shrieked “DINNER!” at the top of her lungs before slamming back through the doors. Sirius sniggered, and Remus slapped him on the arm for good measure. Ron appeared a moment later. 

 

“What’s got mum riled?” He muttered. Then he heard Fleur. “Oh.”

 

Dinner was tense. Hermione had somehow ended up next to Ron on one side, and Sirius on the other. Molly was seated on Sirius’ other side, adjacent to the head of the table. “We’re going to the Burrow for a few days.” Arthur commented, trying to create a conversation.

 

Hermione frowned. “Why?”

 

“Ministry’s combing for Harry. It looks suspicious when he disappears.” Remus murmured. Arthur nodded. Hermione scowled. 

 

“Screw them.” She snapped. “They don’t get to keep tabs on him when all they’ve done is screw him.” 

 

Sirius hid a smile behind his hand, and Molly frowned at her. “You’ve never taken that attitude with the Ministry before.” She chided. 

 

“Yes, well they’ve never been so steadfastly committed to putting blinders on the public. The entire wizarding world is going to be blindsided the moment Voldemort makes his move, and Harry’s done quite enough for them. He’s never gotten a hint of appreciation or support, either. To them, he’s a mascot at best, and he deserves better.”

 

“Relax, Mione.” Harry cautioned. 

 

“If you’re going to the Burrow, so am I.” She snapped fiercely. “And if those buggers come knocking, I’ll give them a thorough reaming.” She swore.

 

“Easy, kitten. You’ve got too much riding on you to be carted off to Azkaban for slapping the Minister.” Sirius crooned fondly. 

 

“I’ll settle for slapping an Auror.” She sneered. Molly and Arthur looked alarmed, never having seen Hermione’s vengeful nature in full. The rest were cautiously amused. 

 

“That’s not much better, pet.” He grinned. “Potatoes?” She took the proffered plate angrily and stabbed at the potatoes as though Scrimgeour’s face was printed on their wrinkled, buttery skins. 

 

“It’s only for a couple days. To prove we’re still in the country.” Arthur offered weakly. Ron was glowering at her, but she fastidiously ignored him. “Of course, you’re welcome to come with us. And the floo between the Burrow and Grimmauld will remain open for the duration.” He assured her. 

 

“I don’t know if she should come.” Ron grunted beside her. Hermione tensed. “Seems to me like she’s going off the bloody deep end.” Multiple sets of eyes leveled him with glares.

 

“Shut it, Ron.” Fred warned. 

 

“No. No, she’s a completely different person. Cavorting with Slytherins and threatening to accost Ministry officials. She’s _not_  the Hermione Granger you used to know, she’s…”

 

“What?” Hermione asked, voice dangerously low. “Stupid? Naive? A frosty bitch? A liar? _A cheap whore?_ ” She snarled. “What I am, is committed. I’m committed to Harry, and I’m committed to my mission. Just because I’ve decided not to let you steamroll over me when you don’t get what you want, doesn’t mean I’m a different person. It means I’m allowing myself to be exactly what I need to be to _survive._ Because if Voldemort wins, you'll probably get the  _option_ to live, but I'll be murdered or sold like property to someone like Dolohov or Rabastan Lestrange. I'm exactly what I need to be, exactly who I am.” She hissed. “You’re the one who decided not to respect my wishes. You’re the one who decided to insult me in front of the entire school because I wouldn’t bend over backwards to please you. I haven’t changed, I just opened my eyes. And let me tell you, _I did not like what I saw._ ” She hissed.

 

She stood from the table. “I’m not feeling particularly hungry. I’m going to pack.” She growled.


	26. Mistakes

It turned out that the older members of the Order had been correct. They hadn’t been in the Burrow for more than five hours when they heard Molly’s shriek from the kitchen. Hermione rushed in, wand raised, thinking that the Weasley matriarch was being attacked. She was staring out the window, hand over her mouth and eyes wide with shock. “Mrs. Weasley?”

“It’s Percy.” She whispered, turning shining eyes to Hermione. Her heart melted a little. As much as she had her difficulties with Molly, she couldn’t deny that the woman had been through too much. She glanced out the window, and sure enough, Percy Weasley was striding stiffly from the apparation point to the front door. “Arthur!” Molly called, slowly regaining her wits. “Arthur, it’s Percy!”

They were joined by the rest of the Weasley clan in short order. Only Molly looked hopeful. The rest of them looked stiff and agitated. Bill visibly clenched his teeth when the knock came at the door. Molly wrenched it open. “Percy.” She breathed, eyes misty.

“Hello mother.” He greeted stiffly. “I hope you had a good Christmas. Sorry I couldn’t join you.” 

“It’s alright, darling, I know how busy you are.” Molly cooed. 

“Too busy to send a note. Too busy to make a floo call…” George recounted angrily. 

“It might be too difficult for you to understand, since you’re only beholden to your own whims, but I was, in fact, too busy. I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Yeah, so what do you want?” Fred sneered. “Since you no longer do anything unless the Ministry requires you to. What exactly do they require of you today, your snottiness?”

Percy shifted uncomfortably. “In order for me to have the day off to spend with you, I’ve been asked to speak with Harry about some sensitive matters.” He told them crisply, as though he were informing them of a cash transaction that they should be grateful for. To Hermione’s utter heartbreak, Molly looked at Harry hopefully, begging the boy to give her son five minutes so that she could have him for a day. But she’d seen the letters he’d written regarding their view of Dumbledore and their position in the war. 

Harry looked at war with himself, caught somewhere between his desire to refuse and the absolutely wretched look on Molly’s face. He took int the hard-jawed expressions on the rest of the Weasley’s faces, and finally landed on her. 

She shrugged. “Hear what he has to say, I suppose. Just don’t accept anything unless you get something equal in return. Require the truth. But don’t do this for Molly. Not to say that she doesn’t deserve the happiness, but she doesn’t deserve a son like that.” She glanced at Percy in disgust. “A son who holds his love ransom in service of masters who’d sooner cut his head off than give up their own power. Unlike his family, who would give their lives to see him smile. Really, Molly, you and I have had our differences, but that’s not a son. That’s a parasite.” She said coolly. Molly’s chin trembled and for the first time since his arrival, there were flickers of emotion spasming across Percy’s face. Mostly anger, but other things too. 

Hermione squared up to him then. “Don’t try to pass that bullshit by me, Percy Weasley. I’m smarter than you. If I can step away from my life to spend a week with my family, your menial lapdog work as Junior Undersecretary can surely wait.”

“You’re a student, Granger. The rigors of your life don’t extend into vacations.” He sneered.

Hermione barked a derisive laugh, eyes narrowing maliciously. "I bet even the Minister stepped away to see a family member on Christmas. You’re just too high-strung, blind, and self-absorbed to put away your pride long enough to see your family. You should be ashamed to call yourself a Gryffindor.” She hissed. 

“Hermione…” Harry muttered. Hermione turned to him, glancing at Molly as she went. The woman was near tears. Harry was silently asking her to tone it down for Mrs. Weasley’s sake. Despite the tumultuous year, the woman was afraid of losing her son. She shouldn’t be a catalyst in that chain of events.

“Right. Like I said. Hear him out. Let me know if you need help interpreting his absolute shite.” She told him warmly. She shot a glare over her shoulder at Percy, for good measure. “I’ll be in our room if you need me.” 

Even Ron was smiling at her as she floated from the room. 

* * *

“So what did he want?” Hermione asked sourly when Harry trudged into her room with Ginny, Ron, Fred, George and Bill in tow. 

“Exactly what you said. To use me as a mascot for the great job that the Ministry is doing.” Harry grunted, kicking back on her bed. “What a joke.”

“And where is Percy now?”

“Having a cuppa with mum.” Ginny answered. “Nice job, by the way. Excellent thrashing. He couldn’t have gotten more purple in the face if you’d actually choked him with your bare hands.” She complimented enthusiastically. Fred and George nodded excitedly. 

“He told me to not let you influence me.” Harry snorted. “Said you were going down the wrong path and dragging me down with you. Tosser.” Nobody missed Ron shifting uncomfortably.

“I’m ashamed I used to look up to him.” Hermione sniffed. “Self-absorbed prick. How’d he turn out to be the rotten egg? It’s not like he didn’t get love or attention.”

“I left some big shoes to fill.” Bill smirked. 

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Well I hope he comes ‘round. For your mum’s sake.” She tutted. “I wonder what they’re even talking about. Molly’s been pretty wrapped up in Order business, and Percy’s day-to-day is pretty uniform from what I’ve heard.” 

Everyone (except Ginny) looked surprised. “How would you have heard about Percy?” Fred asked slowly. 

“One of the people I’m working with is an underling of his.” She shrugged. Bill’s eyes narrowed at that, but the rest of them took it to mean that she couldn’t say more. They nattered on for a while longer until Molly poked her head in to let them know that Percy had departed. Everyone slunk out of the room, save Hermione, Ginny and Bill. He was still studying her carefully. 

“Did you need something?” Hermione asked hesitantly. He shook his head. Ginny was squinting at him suspiciously. 

“Not that many people work directly under Perce, you know.” He commented mildly. “Four. Alma Cordova, Julien Barron, Maggie Atwhistle, and Calendula Flint.” Panic flared through the girls. He’d figured it out. 

“Bill…” Hermione stood, trying to halt his progress. 

“Julien and Maggie have already agreed to help Kingsley keep tabs on the Minister. Alma spends most of her time with our Ambassador to Spain.” He continued. “That leaves Callie Flint, but she’s one of the most stalwart blood supremacists I know. Unless, of course, she isn’t.” 

Hermione felt like she couldn’t breathe. She’d messed up. “Bill, please…”

“I’m not going to tell anyone, Hermione. But if you’re mixed up with the likes of Calendula Flint and working with her as part of an Order mission, that means her compatriots can’t be far behind. That lot stuck together like glue.”

“Bill, stop.” Ginny growled. He turned to her.

“You’re part of this, too.” He murmured thoughtfully. “They were younger than me, but had quite the reputation. Vicious and brilliant, the lot of them. Cold and nasty. Until, of course—“

“Bill, don’t. I don’t want to know.” Hermione pleaded. 

“Persephone befriended a muggleborn and fell off the face of the earth. Then they were quiet.” 

“BILL. Shut the fuck up.” Ginny snarled. “Don’t say another word. Don’t say her name. We can’t know it.” Bill’s eyes narrowed. 

“She was disowned. We don’t know who her family is, we don’t know anything about her. There’s a taboo on her name. We _can’t know it_. It’s imperative.” Hermione groaned. She lifted her wand to her head. “ _Memoria Caveum._ ” She muttered, pulling the strand from her head, and repeating the process with Ginny. 

“That’s who you’re working with.” He breathed, slumping back in his chair in shock. “Who else? Prim Parkinson? Amalia Rosier? Adonis Pucey?” Hermione said nothing. “You can trust me. I know them. I _work_  with Primrose. Let me help you.” He pleaded. 

Hermione bit her lip and looked to Ginny. Ginny shrugged, indicating that she trusted her brother, but trusted Hermione more. It was her decision. “I don’t know, Bill.” She uttered, frantic.

“I can help you set up safe houses. Hermione, if you’re working with a horde of Slytherins from Death Eater families, you need help. People you can go to when you’re under the wire. Let me help you. I owe Parkinson my life. Don’t tell her I said that, she’d never let me live it down, but I do. What does she go by? The one whose name you can’t know.”

Hermione grimaced, but the more Bill rambled, the more sense he made. “Peregrine Morelle.” 

Bill snorted. “Peregrine, huh? I taught her how to cast a Patronus. I was her defense tutor when I was a sixth year. If she and her lot have been flitting around the shadows, then I probably owe them all my life a few times over.”

“They won’t be happy. They had a hard enough time dealing with me.” Ginny interrupted. “They don’t like Weasleys. Almost on principle.”

“They don’t need to know. I’m just…I’m offering you a hand. You can ask for help and I’ll give it without asking questions. Spend extra time on safe houses, and reserve some of them for your lot.” He promised. “I just need to know who’s in it so that I can make arrangements for them to enter the wards.”

Hermione groaned. “I need to talk to Sirius.” She uttered, scrubbing her hands over her face. “You two are coming with me.”

Sirius lurched in surprise when the three of them stumbled out of the fireplace. “It’s been six…seven hours. Did you miss me that much, kitten?” He chuckled. Then he took in her face, the guilty panic that had settled there, and sobered quickly. “What happened?” 

“I fucked up.” She moaned. “I didn’t realize that Percy only had _four underlings_. The way he goes on about how important he is, I figured there were at least twenty.” Sirius paled. “Bill went to school with Cal. With most of them, actually. He put it all together ridiculously fast. Almost told me Grin’s real name.”

“Well, fuck.” He muttered, slumping back into his chair. He studied Bill for a moment. 

“He wants to know who’s in the faction so that he can set up warded safe houses.” Ginny powered forward. “I think it’s both a great and terrible idea.”

Sirius was silent for a moment. “You’re familiar with the Silenced Tongue Curse?” He murmured, staring Bill in the eye. Bill nodded quickly. “You’ll agree to take it? We can’t let anything happen to them. Not anything we can prevent, anyways.”

“I have to be able to say Primrose’s name. Other than that, I’m open to it.” Bill agreed. 

“What is it?” Hermione demanded. 

“It’s a curse that will literally steal the specified words from your tongue until the caster releases it.” Bill said. “I won’t be able to say any of their names aloud.”

“That won’t help with legilimency.” Hermione argued. 

“Obliviate me once I’m done setting up the houses. Or use whatever the fuck spell you just used on yourself.” He offered. Hermione looked like she preferred that course of action, and Sirius couldn’t help but agree. 

“We’ll be taking Grin’s name from you, too.” Hermione stated. “On the off chance you meet her, you _can’t_  say her name. That’s easier if you don’t know it.” Bill agreed again. “Fine then. Primrose Parkinson, Pansy Parkinson, Blaise Zabini, Calendula Flint, Marcus Flint, Amalia Rosier, Adonis Pucey, Anwar Shafiq, Lawrence Greengrass, Meridian Fawley, Theomer Rowle, Joshua Selwyn, and Rhiannon MacDougal.” He jolted in surprise at the last one, eyes widening dramatically. “What?”

“Rhia MacDougal? She’s…she’s part of your faction?” Bill breathed. Hermione nodded slowly, but Ginny closed her eyes in horrified realization. 

“What?” Sirius demanded. 

“Charlie.” Ginny breathed. “I _knew_  I recognized her. _Fuck._ ”

“Will someone please tell us what’s happening?” Hermione snapped. Emotional roller-coaster was a gentle term for what she was presently experiencing. 

“Charlie was head over heels for Rhiannon in school. She’s the one who tickled his fancy for magical creatures. She pretty much disappeared after she graduated, but he held this weird torch for her regardless. Kept a picture of her on his desk and everything.” Bill told her. “He tossed it out when the war started. Because she was so close with so many known Death Eaters. He figured…well, he figured that if she didn’t come looking for him after Voldemort’s rise, then she was probably already with him. With _them_.” 

“You can’t tell him.” Hermione warned. Bill nodded distractedly. “I mean it, Bill. You can’t even let him know they’re on the same side. It’s imperative. Their loyalty can never come into question. Their motives are to remain hidden.”

“I get it.” He insisted. “Really. He was just a mess for a while. Sucks that I won’t be able to snap him out of it.”

“She was busy.” Sirius offered. “Really getting the faction up and running, keeping Grin safe and under the radar. There’s a reason she didn’t come for help.”

“Fat lot of good that does Charlie.” He muttered. “And Shafiq, Selwyn and Rowle. That’s…well, it’s shocking.” He admitted. “They were right prats when I knew them. And hearing Fred and George carry on about how they’d like to take a blunger to Flint’s head, well…just…it’s a lot to take in.”

“We actually didn’t ask you to take it in.” Ginny sniped. “Actually, you barreled in and almost obliterated the wards at the Burrow.” Bill gaped in horror. It was an odd look for him. 

“A taboo. _Fuck._  She’s under a taboo. So anyone who says her full name…”

“Any wards surrounding them get taken down. Her father, whoever that is, is alerted to the location, and he shows up with his goons to kill her. Apparently it's happened more than once.” Hermione said dryly. 

“God, poor…Peregrine.” He fumbled around the name. “And _god,_ if her _father_  had shown up. Fuck. I hate that man.” Bill growled. 

“You know him?” Ginny asked. 

“I do.” He groaned. “Fucking terrible.”

“I think we should get the Silenced Tongue Curse out of the way. Don’t you?” Sirius piped up. “You know more than we do about Grin, and we really do need to keep her well guarded. She founded the faction and recruited most of the membership except for Pansy and Blaise. We really can’t afford to lose her to a slip-up.” Bill nodded quickly. 

“I’ll perform it on myself. I’d need to say Peregrine’s name aloud, and you just said you can’t know it. I’ll apparate myself out and perform it before returning.”

Hermione frowned. “I didn’t realize you’d have to say her name. That’ll break the taboo and just put her back on her father’s radar.” She argued. 

“Limited options here, Hermione.” Bill sighed. 

“You can’t break the taboo.” She insisted. “Use my memory charm, and look at them as you need them. If you don’t remember her name, you won’t say it. If it’s not in your head, you can’t give it up.” She looked at Sirius, who was considering both options. 

“Hermione’s right. Take their names. Give them to me, and let me know when you need them.” He instructed. Hermione slumped in relief when Bill agreed. 

* * *

“Hello!” Hermione bellowed into the Pit as soon as she landed. Ginny and Sirius landed moments later. 

Adonis popped his head up from the couch to peer at them. “‘Lo.” He grumbled before slumping back down.

“Where’s Grin?” Hermione demanded. 

“Room.” He grunted. Hermione was off like a shot. Moments later, she was pounding on Grin’s door. 

“Jesus, what?” She growled, yanking the door open. She blinked blearily down at Hermione. “Oh. Hello.”

“Bill Weasley knows.” 

Grin closed her eyes and exhaled noisily, clearly irritated. “How.”

“He put it together. I said something about Percy’s daily routine being monotonous and he put it together that I was working with Cal, and therefore with you lot since you were all inseparable. He almost told me your name.”

“Bugger was always too smart for his own good.” Grin grumbled, throwing her door open wider so that Hermione could enter and she could flop back down on her bed. “So what did you decide?” Hermione cocked her head curiously. “Well you didn’t use your nifty memory charm, or else you’d have said ‘Bill figured it out and I fixed it.'"

“He’s going to set up warded safe houses for us, and then I’m going to use my nifty memory charm on him. He agreed to it. Said he wanted to help.”

“Nice of him.” Grin admitted begrudgingly. “Who’s next, the twins? Charles?”

“It was an _accident_. I about had a heart attack.” She snapped. 

Grin sighed. “I know. Sorry.” She scrubbed a hand over her face. 

“He was surprised that Rhia was a member. Actually, he was surprised that most of you were members. Rhia was just…extra.”

“Because of his brother. I’m not surprised. She was pretty beat up about it. He left for Romania the year I went into hiding, but they hadn’t talked for almost two years before that. She didn’t know how to keep in touch, and then she had bigger things to focus on.” 

“He was very upset when he found out about that taboo. Feels bad for you, and wants to help you as much as he can.” Hermione offered. Grin scoffed quietly. 

“You want to bring him here.” 

“Mostly to see the wards so that he can replicate them.”

“We have Prim. Prim can examine the wards and give him the specifications.”

“You know it’s not the same.”

Grin sighed long-sufferingly. “I need coffee. Do you want coffee?” She stood before Hermione could answer and swept downstairs. “Oh, hello you two. Didn’t know you were here as well. Coffee?”

“It’s not a bad idea, Grin.” Sirius sighed.

“Hermione never has bad ideas.” She countered dismissively. “I know he could be useful. The sod is brilliant. But this is becoming less and less of a secret, and it puts me on edge.” 

“I get it. I seriously fucked up.” Hermione winced. “I honestly need to be more careful. I was just _sick_  of Percy’s bullshit, and I just made an offhanded comment. I didn’t even think of the implication until started extrapolating aloud. It was…”

“She panicked. Like…ugly panicked.” Ginny recounted dryly. “Thought she was going to hyperventilate.”

“You’re not wrong. But shut up.” Hermione grumbled. 

Grin sighed. “Well. Bring him over. I’ll tell the others.”


End file.
